This Is Now
by sienna27
Summary: ZA, AU - Daryl runs into Carol and Sophia one night shortly before society begins to crumble. Their relationships, and canon events, are re-imagined as a result. Multi-chapter, pre-show and moving through season 2. Caryl straight friendship to start, shift in their relationship as things move forward.
1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note** : This is my first dip into this fandom, and regular readers, sorry :) I know you're waiting on many things, none of which are this. But this is what we have. I hope some of you know the show and might stick around!

And TWD people, hello :)

Briefly, this is a ZA AU of Carol and Daryl and a different take on how they first met, and how that changed things completely going forward in canon.

The two primary show elements to hold onto here, are that 1) before everything fell apart, Carol and Sophia once tried to leave Ed by going to an Atlanta shelter, and 2) that Daryl was basically a 'drifter' following his brother around. I just suddenly got this image of them both being in Atlanta at the same and something happening that caused their lives to intersect about a week before the world shifts. I'd say it's about three to four weeks out before the show started with the quarry camp already setup. More at the end on how things will play out.

And I guess a warning here for bad language. But it's Daryl talking in his head, so it's kind of hard to avoid bad language :) And allusions to the general type of violence you'd find in TWD world. If it starts getting too explicit, I might change it to an M. But for now I think T works.

Beyond that, please just go with it :)

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 **Updated Note 03/22/15 - Please Read** : Please know, I am NOT watching season 6. I tried a little of the first episode last month and it killed my muse, dead, for two days. Being exposed to new canon, and other people's imaginations for how the characters are living, it blocks my own ideas and creative spark. It happened back when I was writing Criminal Minds too, it's just how my brain processes this stuff. So please, for the love of all that is good and decent in the dead world, NO SPOILERS in your notes to me :) I love and totally appreciate the story feedback so much, but ANY canon knowledge of current events, be it about Caryl, lack of Caryl, or anything/anybody else, can shut this baby down! And we don't want that :) So thank you all for being good doobies and lying to me for the rest of our time together :)

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" _It happened that a fire broke out backstage in a theater. The clown came out to inform the public. They thought it was a jest and applauded. He repeated his warning. They shouted even louder. So I think the world will come to an end amid the general applause from all the wits who believe that it is a joke."_

 _-_ _Søren Kierkegaard_

 _*/*/*_

" _There's no big apocalypse . . . just an endless procession of little ones."_

 _-_ _Neil Gaiman_ _,_ _Signal to Noise_

* * *

 **In The Beginning**

"Fucking Merle, pick up your own fucking drugs next time."

The angry grumble had left Daryl's mouth in a sneer, before he'd even realized that he was speaking aloud. And given that he was actually walking _alone,_ in the semi-dark, down that crumbling Atlanta sidewalk, with Merle nowhere even in the vicinity, he looked a damn fool for talking to himself. But as he looked around, taking more careful note of the few people on the street surrounding him, Daryl realized that he had no one to impress in these quarters. Nothing but pimps and druggies and whores. His eyebrow twitched.

Maybe a few drunken bums.

Basically nobody worth mentioning. Not that he was anyone worth mentioning either. He was a nobody too. But he wasn't a pimp, a druggie or a whore though, he didn't do that shit. No, he kept his shit to the legal kind. Well . . . he grunted to himself . . . mostly. If it was up to him he'd always stay on the straight and narrow just because it was less stress than not. But it wasn't always up to him. Sometimes it was up to _Merle_. And Merle . . . Daryl felt a good head of steam rising back up . . . did not generally take "no," or "fuck you brother," for an answer. No, typically an answer like that, just got you a punch to the ribs. So you could take that, or not.

Mostly Daryl just took it.

As long as it wasn't too bad. The things that Merle wanted him to do, that is. Like, he wouldn't _kill_ nobody, or hurt 'em too bad. Not on purpose anyhow. Not if he could help it. But if Merle needed some back-up on a job . . . and given Merle's present ' _occupation_ ' of choice, dealing meth . . . Daryl might need to provide a little back up just to make sure his brother didn't come home in a body bag. So he'd go out with him and bust up a nose or bruise some ribs. Black an eye or three. But that was chicken shit stuff. Stuff that he'd been putting up with since he was a boy. And if a grown man couldn't take that, well . . . he turned his head to spit . . . he weren't much of a man now, was he?

Sometimes though, when he was cleaning up his bloodied knuckles as he stood in that shitty little cracked tile bathroom back in the shaggy dog house that he and Merle called home, Daryl'd catch his reflection in the mirror. And behind that reflection, he'd see the fading pink flowers covering the nicotine stained wall.

Mama's wallpaper.

Put up decades ago, now. But it was there, peeling a bit, colors all sun bleached to hell . . . but it was still hers. And when he looked at the flowers while he felt the burning of peroxide on his torn flesh, he'd wonder what his mama would think of the kind of a man he was.

If she'd be proud.

Probably not, he'd decide after a few minutes, as he bit down on his lip. But he always knew that he could be worse.

He could be Merle.

And well, Merle, he was a son of a bitch. Case in fucking point, asshole had to get himself picked up on a DUI . . . his _third_ of the damn year . . . and thrown into county lockup. No bail, they'd said. Driving on a suspended license, they'd said.

 _Repeat_ offender, they'd said.

Yeah . . . Daryl grunted to himself . . . tell him something he don't know. Merle was the smartest God damn idiot, he'd ever met. With his age, counting juvie and what he did in the Army, his sheet had to be freaking thirty pages by now. Half of that crap, was drugs and booze. But Daryl's sheet, on the other hand, was at last count . . . two years ago, his last lockup . . . only a page and a half. And most of that shit, that was all due to Merle. A month for this bar brawl, two weeks for that one. The six months he got once for getting caught with Merle's dope. Then the three months he'd served for a battery charge on a cop. Yeah, his asshole brother had picked a fight in a bar, and Daryl was just trying to break it up before anybody'd have to go the hospital.

How the hell was he supposed to know that the guy he'd punched in the ribs . . . the guy that Merle had poured the damn beer on and who at that present moment had his brother in a chokehold. . . was an off duty cop?

He scowled thinking back. They should make those assholes wear a damn sign on their foreheads if they're going to be out there mingling with regular folks. But anyway, he let out a huff as tried to get his mind to refocus on the main topic at hand. What was it? Right.

Merle and his jackass stupidity.

Which in this case, was Merle getting himself locked up until trial, with trial a full three weeks out. Which would have been just fine by Daryl, he could have gotten some damn peace and quiet at home, maybe aired the place out a bit. But then he got the call from the jail house. Merle wanted him to come in and, 'visit.' Yeah, Merle didn't ever want _nothing_ , without wanting something else too.

So the next day Daryl had gritted his teeth and got in his truck and drove on down to Jackson County Correctional, to "visit" his brother. Which was of course where he found out that Merle had a job for him to do.

" _Just a quick favor little brother_ ," he'd said with that smirk of his, " _won't take but a few hours_."

And Daryl had wanted to shout right there in the visitor's room, "no, fuck you Merle, I ain't doing you any damn favors, anymore!"

But he didn't.

He'd just sighed and asked where he was going.

Merle gave him a name and an address and a dollar amount.

Daryl didn't need to be told where to get the dollars. They was buried in a strong box under the house. That's where Merle had been keeping his 'proceeds' for as long as Daryl could remember. And that was remembering back to the very old days where Merle used to steal spray paint cans and then sell them, at cost, to the idiot teenagers looking for a cheap high. Huffing, they called it.

Damn foolery, Daryl did.

Either way, once they made a law about it, Merle did his time on that one too. But not before he'd made himself a pretty penny. Some of those pennies were probably still in the very bottom of that lock box. Daryl didn't bother to look. At the bills that is. He just grabbed a stack of hundreds from the top, counted them through, counted them through again, added in a few twenties just for an emergency, and then shoved the whole damn stack into the empty envelope that the 'lectric bill had come in. Then he'd sealed that shit up, and jammed it down into the bottom of his traveling satchel.

He knew it was going to be a long day.

Because Merle's definition of a favor taking, "but a few hours," was more than likely eight or nine. Coming and going with traffic, that is. But Daryl knew that it was better to just get it done than be bitching about it in his head. So two days later, which was the third Friday in May (late afternoon, now) he'd gassed up, and headed out. All he had with him was the satchel filled with his wallet, the cash, his bowie knife, pack of jumbo slim jims and a couple of bottles of sweet tea. Plus an empty duffel of course.

For the shit that he needed to pick up.

And he'd thought that it would be easy enough to get in and out. He'd checked on his Atlanta map and it looked like the neighborhood he was going into, was right off the highway.

'Cept it wasn't.

Because Merle gave him the WRONG DAMN ADDRESS! Yeah, fucking idiot sent him to a freaking _Starbucks_ , to pick up a crate of Sudafed! Daryl was so God damn mad when he pulled up out in front and saw that giant green sorry ass mermaid, that for one brief, shiny, moment, he nearly pulled that whole wad of cash out of the envelope, and tossed it into the gutter.

But then he'd pictured Merle's face. And what it was going to look like when he found out that "little brother," had thrown six grand of his illegally earned cash, out for the bums.

He woulda had a damn stroke.

And then he would have kicked Daryl's ass, probably from his hospital room.

So like he'd been doing his whole life, Daryl had pushed that anger down deep, and then he'd tried to clean up Merle's mess. He'd gone into that Starbucks, ordered himself a giant ass, ice cold, raspberry flavored sweet tea, (which he paid for out of the 'emergency' cash) and settled down at one of those computer stations they had in the corner. Now Daryl wasn't much for computers, he was too much of an outdoors guy to have any real interest in crap like that, but he wasn't an idiot about them either. Even his shitty little Appalachian school house had had one shitty little computer for the kids to take classes on. And then during his three month incarceration for that battery charge, he'd decided to take another class. They was free in the jail house, ('Occupational Skills Classes,' they called them) and computers had changed some since the eighties. He definitely knew that much. So he'd taken his free class, and he'd learned a bunch of nonsense that didn't generally help him out much on his day to day. But the one thing he did learn that actually did come in quite useful at times, was what Google was, and how to use it to look shit up. Shit like addresses and maps, and such.

Which is what he did in Starbucks.

He'd figured out where Merle had gone wrong with the address. Turned out there were two "Jackson Avenues" in Atlanta. One in the good part of town.

One in the bad.

And as one might imagine, if one had such an imagination, there ain't no Starbucks in the bad part of town. Nowhere. So once he'd figured out where it was that he _should_ have been going, and Google street mapped that shit just to be sure that the address looked like the crackhouse he thought it should be, he'd downed the last of his sweet tea, and had headed out again.

At that point the light was fading from the sky, and he knew that it wasn't exactly "safe" to be a redneck driving around the ghetto after dark. Especially when you got six grand and some change burning a hole in your front seat. But it wasn't like he could just go home empty handed and come back the next day. These assholes were waiting on him.

They were waiting on Merle's money.

So he'd figured it was best to just get that exchange done and be on his way. He wasn't picking up the meth, just the Sudafed to make it. And there weren't no damn laws against driving around with cold medicine. All right yeah, he rolled his eyes, there were quite a few damn laws covering him driving around with cold medicine. But regardless, he wasn't too worried about getting picked up. If it came down to it, he'd just say it was a donation to a ladies shelter, or some shit like that.

Let 'em try and prove different.

That had been his last real thought on that point as he'd rolled through the streets of Atlanta. By then he was mostly just focused on not getting himself turned around again. But, be it tracking in the woods or speeding through the city, he had a good sense of direction. And he found the right Jefferson Ave without too much (additional) difficulty.

At least that's what he'd thought at first.

But when he'd started to turn the corner, and head down to the numbered block of houses that he needed to find, he saw a whole mess of red and blue lights in front of him. A whole lotta noise too.

He'd backed the hell up, real quick.

And after he'd stashed the track a block back, halfway down an empty alley, with just the satchel on his shoulder, he'd hiked back out on foot. At that point he was holding no, 'Illusions' about still getting Merle's favor done that night, but still, there was a chance. Maybe the cops were busy with some other mess.

Maybe the house he needed to be at was way further down than he thought.

So he scoped it out, real subtle like. Heading up and back around the corner to join the crowd of locals all pressed up against the yellow tape, pointing and whispering. Down the block aways, seemed like whatever was happening was still happening. If he squinted, he could sort of see it, off in the distance, under the street lamps. He was expecting that it was probably a shootin' or something.

Lots of guns in that neighborhood, he was sure.

But turned out it wasn't a shootin'. Not to start. It was some kind of, well . . . his brow darkened just thinking back on it . . . it was some kind of horrible, terrible thing. Word around the yellow tape was that some tweaker had flipped out. Got some bad shit or something. Either way, he attacked this old lady who was walking by with her groceries in a little cart. Tore her up real bad. Tore her up to pieces.

Literally ate off her damn NOSE!

Eating people! What kind of fucked up shit was _THAT_?! And the guy wouldn't even stop when the cops got there. He just kept chewing and chewing, and growling at them like a rapid dog. So they'd had to put him down. Like you do a rabid dog.

Shot him straight up in the head.

He still didn't go down right away. Just kept getting up again, like tweakers do. Daryl had been there for that last part. Them last two bullets. He'd heard them go. And then the police helicopter came in, flying overhead with the big bright light, and he saw that old lady's cart laying there upside down.

And her there next to it.

He let out a soft breath . . . it was quite a mess. And then that poor old lady, who probably hadn't ever done anything to nobody to deserve a bad end like that, there she was, digesting in that asshole's belly. That was not right.

Not right at all.

And as he walked back to the truck, all he could think was . . . what if that had been Merle's meth? What if there _was_ some bad shit going around? Because he and Merle had been hearing things the last few weeks. Weird things. About bad reactions, and such. All over. So maybe it wasn't 'okay' that he was only going to be picking up cold medicine. Maybe it was the cold medicine that was bad.

So maybe he needed to just go home.

He could make up a story for Merle. Tell him he had heard _for sure_ , that it was the Sudafed that was fucking people up. That he'd heard it on the street in Atlanta.

Heard it while they was scraping up that old lady off the sidewalk.

And Merle would be okay with that. With him leaving the Sudafed behind if he thought it was gonna hurt somebody that way. Because Merle might be a son of a bitch, but he wasn't _that_ bad. He didn't want to kill nobody.

And definitely not like that old lady got killed.

That would bother him right bad, if he thought it was his shit that had done that. So Daryl was feeling pretty good about his story by then, by the time he got back to the alley where his truck was. He'd just head on back home, and then tomorrow he'd go down to the jail house and he'd tell Merle what happened on the sidewalk. And why he'd come home empty handed.

And that would be that.

'Cept it hadn't been.

Because when he'd gotten to the alley, he found his truck had been stripped bare. All four tires . . . he scowled as he thought back . . . gone! He'd been so mad that he'd started to scream.

"DIRTY ROTTEN NO GOOD NI . . .!"

And then he'd stopped. And he'd kicked the side of the truck instead. Because he was trying not to use that word no more. Not since that day he'd seen Merle use it in the coffee shop, all casual like, and how it had made that lady wince and turn her head. And mind you Merle wasn't _directing_ , that word at her. He was just talking, as Merle does. But still, it had pained her to hear it. And since then, 'bout five years on now, Daryl had been trying real hard to watch _his_ words. He'd never meant nothing by them anyway. It was just the word that Merle and his daddy had taught him.

It was the only word he knew.

Back then.

But then he got older, and he learned other words. More _general_ , words. Nicer ones. He mostly tried to use those instead.

Even if Merle called him a PC pussy.

He didn't care about that. He just cared about not hurting nobody that didn't have it coming. And that pretty lady in the coffee shop, she hadn't had nothing coming to her. At least nothing that he knew about. So she shouldn't have to listen to that stuff.

Not if he could help it.

So when he found his truck in the state that it was, he'd there stood in that alleyway, kicking dents in the doors and swearing up a blue streak . . . but keeping racial persuasion out of it. Race didn't have nothing to do with it anyway. He kept trying to tell Merle that. Assholes were assholes.

No matter what color they were.

It had been while he was throwing that damn tantrum though, that something funny had happened. He started hearing this noise. A growling sound. Like a dog sorta. But not a dog. Whatever it was, it stopped him cold. Because he was flashing on what that guy behind the tape told him.

About how the tweaker had been growling just before he jumped on the old lady.

And right about then, Daryl realized that the weird growling sound, that was sorta like a dog, but wasn't, was coming from the other end of the alley. The dark part. And for a second he'd stood there, feeling the hairs on his neck standing up on ends.

Then he took off running.

Now Daryl Dixon wasn't no pansy ass. He could hold his own in any fight. But he wasn't no damn fool, neither. And if that was another tweaker, one like the kind that got the old lady, he wasn't tangling with that asshole! He liked his face right where it was, thank you very much.

And there wasn't nothing to be done about the truck then anyway. He needed to get it towed out and all new tires put on. But there was no way in hell he was going to find a tow truck to go into the middle of the _GHETTO,_ on a Friday night, just to drag his sorry ass Ford out to sit in the shop for twelve hours. Just cost him more money anyway. Really, it was gonna cost _Merle_ more money. Because he was damn sure using Merle's cash for this. It was his fault he was out there, so he was paying for the tires, whether he knew it or not.

But either way, Daryl was planning to just get it sorted tomorrow.

So for tonight, with it closing in on near nine o'clock, he was just trying to walk himself to some part of the neighborhood where he could find a room to rent. Something cheap, preferably, but without no damn bed bugs neither. Merle brought those back once from prison, and they took FOREVER, to get them out of the house.

He wasn't doing that fumigation shit again.

His thoughts on bed bugs and truck repair costs were suddenly interrupted by the sound of someone yelling up ahead. Now, mind you, Daryl had obviously been hearing quite a bit of yelling and cussing and honking and all manner of city noises as he'd traipsed through that neighborhood sticking out like a giant, redneck, thumb. He'd even heard a few "cracker ass," remarks, which he had quite admirably (as far as he was concerned) ignored. But this yelling now was different. Because it was a woman's voice.

And she sounded scared.

" _Just keep walking little brother, ain't your damn business to get involved in."_

These were Merle's words. And Daryl could hear them in his head, just as clearly as he would if the man himself was standing next to him on the sidewalk. But Merle wasn't there. It was just Daryl. And Daryl couldn't just _ignore_ , some lady screaming for help. Even if that lady was likely just a whore.

She still didn't deserve to be hurt.

So he found himself, against Merle's better judgment, suddenly running flat out. Trying to see what was happening.

And put a stop to it if he could.

Even with the sun down, he'd already been sweating like a stuck pig just from the summer heat. So by the time he spotted the source of all the troubles, his shirt was sticking to him like he'd just gotten soaked in the shower. But he ignored that, and the pounding of his lungs (too damn many cigarettes, needed to cut back) and he sized up the situation at hand. And that was when he realized, it wasn't any whore who was yelling. It was a _real_ lady.

Somebody's mama.

And he knew that because the _somebody,_ was right there too. A little girl, blondie, maybe nine or ten. Sobbing like her mama was being murdered. And mama was right there on the ground, kicking and clawing and crying.

Trying to push somebody off of her.

"Ah shit."

Again the words fell from his mouth without him even realizing it. Though that time it didn't matter if anyone else heard him. Because nobody else was paying them any attention. Lady and her little girl getting attacked on a big city sidewalk, and everybody had scattered. All of them, the upright citizens and not, were now just 'minding their own business.'

 _Fucking assholes all deserve to die._

That was Daryl's last fury'd thought right before he barreled into that son of a bitch like a freight train. The guy went flying . . . a knife did too. Long butchering kind. He hadn't seen it in his hands before that.

But Daryl wasn't concerned about the knife.

It flew too far for the guy to grab it. So Daryl moved in while he could, bringing his steel toed work boot back . . . and then ramming it into the asshole's side.

He heard the crack of at least two ribs.

But that wasn't enough, not for what he'd tried to do. So Good Samaritan that he was, Daryl kept stomping. Two . . . three . . . he snarled . . . four, times. Hearing that nice satisfying bone crunch after each one. It only took two kicks before the guy had pissed his pants and had started sobbing like a little girl.

Actually he was sobbing _worse_ , than the little girl.

And though he knew it was a bad thought, as he finally pulled his boot back, and stood there, panting and sweating, staring down at that SOB on the ground, Daryl was kind of wishing that tweaker had found this guy. Gobbled him up good. Him instead of the old lady.

Because this guy woulda deserved it.

"Is he dead?"

Hearing the soft, raspy, tear filled voice coming from just behind him, Daryl spun around. The woman was trying to push herself up off the ground. Her lip and elbow were bleeding and her shirt and pants were dirty and torn.

But that was just the new damage.

He could see lots of old.

Fading marks on her face and arms. And before he could stop himself, he was reaching down to try and take her hand. But of course he moved too fast, got in too close . . . and he scared her. She shrunk back, bright blue eyes wide and watery, trying to pull the little girl to her side. Away from him.

And he felt awful.

"Ain't like that," he said as gentle as he could, even while he took a half a step back . . . just so she'd feel better, "I won't hurtcha. I was just trying to help you up."

For a second his eyes stayed locked onto her watery ones, and he couldn't help but notice it was a bit unusual to see such a young face with such short, silvery hair. She was real pretty though. He felt a twinge in his gut.

And she looked real scared.

And maybe she woulda felt better if he just walked away. But he couldn't just leave her and the girl sprawled out there on the sidewalk. Wasn't safe.

Not by half.

But still, he didn't say nothing else. Just let her take her measure of him. See whether she thought he was coming up short. But finally, after a minute or so . . . long enough almost for his heart to stop pounding . . . her expression softened a bit. She gave him a little nod then as she let out a breath. Like she'd decided that he was okay. He wasn't gonna hurt them.

Not like the other one.

"Can I help you up now?" he asked softly, once more extending his arm. Slowly this time.

That time she didn't shrink back. She let him take her fingers.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then he was helping up off the dirty ground. But once she was standing, now with the still crying girl tucked a bit behind her, he didn't know what to do. Because he'd just realized that he was still holding her hand.

And he kinda didn't want to let go yet.

So his eyes crinkled slightly as his lip quirked up a bit in kind of sad smile. Then he gave her fingers a light shake.

"Daryl," he whispered, again trying to keep his tone from frightening her, "Daryl Dixon. You and your girl okay?" His brow darkened as he looked between her and the man lying on the ground.

He'd just passed out.

"Didn't do nothing to you, right?"

The question was asked as he stared down at the still body. But then he heard the woman sniffle and his eyes snapped back around.

"I'm okay," she gave him a little head shake, "he didn't. You knocked him off." Her lips twisted in a smile then, though her eyes filled with a fresh back of tears.

"Thank you."

"Weren't nothing," he answered softly, feeling a tickle of embarrassment. He pulled his hand back then and rubbed the back of it across his mouth.

"You ladies shouldn't be out here by yourselves," he continued in the same tone, "not a safe area for decent folk."

For a second she just looked at him again, and once more he seemed to pass some kind of internal test. She bit down on her lip.

"We got lost," she stated quietly, answering the question he didn't actually ask, "there was a place where we were supposed to go," she swallowed, "a safe place. But they were full up and turned us away. There was supposed to be a church though. Somebody at the other," her voice faded, "place, they gave me the name and an address. I thought we could find it before dark. But I think I took the wrong bus. I got all turned around, and I was going to try and find another bus to get us back to somewhere I knew, but then," her voice started to thicken, "this boy grabbed my bag. Didn't hurt me, but he was long gone with all my money, before I could even blink. We've kind of been wandering around since then," her eyes flickered past his and down the block.

"Trying to get back to the big buildings."

"Not safe there neither." Daryl answered with a faint, though derisive, snort. "Sun goes away, rich people go home, bad element moves in all over."

Then he looked back down at the woman, and the girl poking her head out from behind her mother's back.

He gave the little one a faint smile.

Though he immediately sobered when he saw the marks on her shoulders too.

He looked back up at her mama.

"You were trying to get into a _shelter_?" He asked somewhat rhetorically. And he could see those pretty blue eyes widen a bit in surprise, like he wasn't going to figure out from the bandage on her arm, and the bruises on her cheek, that was what her safe place was supposed to be.

"Yeah, yes," she stammered a bit in her response, "a woman's shelter."

"So you're running from somebody?" He asked. And she nodded, while again blinking back fresh tears.

"Yes."

"All right then," he let out a sigh as he looked down at the body on the ground, and then back to the woman again, "need to find you two a hotel. Get you setup for something else happens."

"Oh but," the woman shook her head as she shifted slightly into his space, trying to keep her voice down, "remember? I don't have any money. Do you know of a church around here? Or just a regular shelter, just one that might take us for the night?"

Before she'd even finished speaking, he was already shaking his head. His brow had darkened.

"You stay away from those coed shelters. Lots of bad men in there." He jerked his head to the side, "men like that. And trust me, there's not enough staff to keep the ladies safe after lights out. So, no," his lips pursed at her crestfallen look, "that won't work. We'll just find you the hotel, put you up there."

"But . . ."

"S'okay," he cut her off, "got some extra money. I can getcha a room."

Though Daryl thought this was the best idea out of a lot of bad options, seeing the woman swallow as the color started to drain a bit from her face, he realized she might be getting the wrong idea. And at that, after he'd been on his best behavior and all(!) he felt a bit of unexpected irritation.

"Already told _ya_ ," he scowled, "ain't like that. Just gonna get you setup and that's all. I'll leave you alone. No funny business," his eyebrow arched up, "'k?"

"Okay," she nodded seriously for a moment before her eyes crinkled slightly, "thank you. And I'm sorry. You're being very nice, I just," she made a fist and brought it up to her chest, "you know."

"Yeah, yeah," he gave a weary grunt as he looked away, "I know. S'okay." He looked over at her with a faint smirk. "No offense taken."

Seeing her mouth start to quiver, just before she clamped down on the smile, Daryl looked away. He felt a dig in his chest.

Nice lady like that, shouldn't be getting kicked around.

World was too fucked up.

"So," he brought his hand up to tug a bit on the short strands of his sweaty hair, "you got a name there that you wanta share? Or would you prefer not?"

Given her reasons for being out in the street, running away from a bad man, he could understand her not wanting him to know who she was. Less people know your name, less people can track you down.

That was an easy one.

"Oh," she snorted slightly, "yeah, I'm sorry. I'm Carol," she put her hand out, "Carol Pelletier."

As Daryl's hand came up to lightly squeeze her fingers again, she tipped her head to the side.

"This is my daughter, Sophia."

"Hey there, Sophia," he said with a serious nod. One which she returned in kind. Then he looked up at the girl's mother.

"Carol," he repeated her name softly, memorizing it to himself, "Carol Pelletier. Got it."

And then he let her fingers go.

"All right well," he looked around, "still need to find that magical hotel. I was looking for one myself when I came across you two. So," he pushed his bag back on his shoulder, "best get moving again before it gets too late." He looked down at his two new, temporary, walking, companions.

"You ladies ready to go?"

"Yep," the woman . . . Carol he reminded himself, her name is Carol . . . quickly nodded as she turned back to snatch her backpack off the ground, "we're ready."

"Okay then," he put his arm up, gesturing to the road ahead.

"Let's go."

* * *

 _A/N 2: Long note here. Regular readers know the end one usually is:)_

 _I wasn't looking to start a new story, let alone go into a new fandom, but I just couldn't shake the image I had of Daryl roaming through the streets huffing to himself about Merle. And then things kind of spun out from there. And as that goes, generally to get the images out of your head, you just have to write it down to get them out._

 _Beyond the timing/circumstances of their meeting, most everything else about them, and the other characters that might pop up, should be the same. I might tweak some stuff but given that these are new characters for me, I don't want to go too AU or I'll lose their voices completely. One point though that might seem like a bit of a shift for both of them, is that I think if they had known each other earlier, given that they are a good influence on one another, that by the time the events of the show happened, Daryl would have been a bit less 'feral' and Carol less timid. Because without Ed or Merle around, (plus the world not having ended yet) it's likely they would have become friends more quickly. Plus that easy humor they have with one another, that would have been more evident too._

 _Daryl's voice is harder to write than what I'm used to. You don't want his actual words/thoughts to read like complete redneck cliché rambling, but at the same time, if you don't include some 'slang spelling' (for lack of a better term) you do kind of lose his accent which is so much a part of his character. Because I poked around a little in the fandom and people who just wrote his lines 'straight,' I couldn't always hear the words coming from him. No offense intended if that's your style :) and maybe it was just me, but I figured I'd try it this way and once I got in the groove, I ended up liking the flow pretty well. But I'm sure it'll continue to be a balancing issue moving forward. If nothing else, it's a good exercise :)_

 _I'm hoping to keep moving quickly on this for as long as I can. I haven't been able to write anything in my regular fandom for months and then last night I cranked out thirteen pages here in like two hours. And I have vivid chunks of the story in my head so I want to keep cranking as long as I can._

 _Lastly, I'm trying to use this one to fill in (for myself at least) what I thought was a HUGE disserve done by Fear the Walking Dead. That was a show I was genuinely excited about because I thought that those initial weeks where civilization begins to fall apart, and everyone you know (not just family and friends but EVERYONE) starts dying, would have been something great to explore. It would have been terrifying in a totally different way than "just" the horror of Walkers. But Fear just skipped that time period, which made (if I might rant for a second) ZERO sense, seeing as the whole point of the show was apparently to show the societal breakdown! Instead they started off with a few good creepy bits (crackhouse massacres, video of the freeway attacks), had one big riot…time jump. Walkers everywhere! Seriously?! So now you just have the exact same plot as TWD, but without ANY likable characters. Because God knows you wouldn't want the audience to care if everybody gets eaten! I'll stop now :)_

 _So anyway, that's that. Hope you'd like it so far. And I'd love to know what you thought._

 _Thanks!_


	2. Instincts

**Author's Note** : Thank you all for the support on the first chapter! Even when you've been doing this for awhile, it always feels a bit funny when you go into a new fandom. You don't know anybody, nobody knows you, or your stuff. You're building from scratch. Like a new kid in school, standing there in the cafeteria with a tray in your hand and a dorky smile on your lips, yelling out, "hey, I promise I'm not weird! Can I sit with you guys?!" So, thanks for letting me sit with you all :)

And as to the chapter, this one ended up being almost entirely from Carol's POV. Usually, FYI, I do shift view points throughout each post, but as the first one was all Daryl and how he sized her up, this is that, but the reverse. It'll start moving to my regular 'back and forth style, towards the end.

Picking up shortly after we left.

* * *

" _Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do."_

 _\- C.S. Lewis_

 **Instincts**

Carol moved one of her hands away from her daughter's sweaty neck, and down to her own flat stomach. She started rubbing it a bit, to try and quiet the rumbling.

It had started up off and on a couple of hours ago.

But that was to be expected. She hadn't eaten anything since the rubbery eggs that she'd choked down early that morning. That was when she was sitting across from Ed, praying to any god who would listen, that her husband couldn't get a bead on her thoughts. And those prayers, to those gods who never seemed to listen to her before, for once, seemed to work. Because she was still alive. Still kicking. And if Ed had known what she'd been planning for that morning, she'd be in the hospital right now.

That or the morgue.

Either way . . . she bit down on her lip . . . it would have been a bloody day. Just thinking about it, just _remembering_ all of those battered, black and blue days that had come before, triggered that near ever present, _'Ed induced'_ panic and anxiety. It was something that she had lived with for most of the last thirteen years.

And it folded down over her like a clammy glove.

But she had no time for that traumatic stress bullshit. And even if she did have the time, this sure as HELL, wasn't the place for it! So she took a breath, and she let it out. Then she took another breath . . . and forced that one from her lungs too. And she was doing that, over and over, all while she was reminding herself, once more . . . over and over . . . that Ed wasn't there. And Ed wasn't going to _be_ there. Because even if he was driving all over damnation looking for her and Sophia (which was, quite likely), there was still no WAY that he was ever going to find them on that night. Not where they were right now.

Here where they had business being at all.

Out in the dark, in the middle of the projects, with this . . . her expression softened a bit as she looked over to the man ambling just ahead . . . escort.

He was a funny one.

His speech was a bit terse, and he was definitely backwoods raised, with that backwoods way of speaking. Not that he'd actually spoken much outside their initial encounter. He hadn't actually said a word in more than ten minutes. She'd been keeping track of the time, because she was kind of curious how long it would be before he would speak again.

 _If_ , he would speak again.

Of course she could have tried talking to him, to make some kind of conversation to fill the empty space. But when she'd asked him the one relevant question that she could think to ask, _"do you have any idea where we are?_ " he'd just grunted out a, "nope," and kept right on moving down the sidewalk. Walking along like he owned the place.

Though technically she'd say that he fit in around that neighborhood, about as well as she did.

And for that reason, she was a bit curious as to what he was doing in a neighborhood like that at all. He'd said it himself, he didn't live there. Or really, obviously, thinking about it, anywhere in the city at all. Not if he was looking for a hotel.

So what could have brought him out to such a sketchy place, on a Friday night?

Yeah . . . she bit down a sigh . . . none of the answers she was coming up with there, made her feel very good. Still though, whatever his reasons (his business), in that area, he seemed like a decent man. Hard, (she flashed on him ruthlessly kicking the crap out of her attacker), but soft too. It wasn't just that he'd chosen to run in and save her when nobody else would, but he'd also backed right off when he'd realized that he had scared her, by moving too fast into her space. It had been clear.

He was trying to do right.

But that alone, just his _efforts_ to do right, likely would not have, under _MOST_ circumstances, really been enough for Carol to take her daughter by the hand, and wander off after this stranger down a dark city street. No, it was a little bit more than that. There was a clincher. It was his eyes.

He had kind eyes.

A pretty, stormy, blue, that had sort of softened as he'd stared at her down there on the sidewalk. And when the storm clouds had finally parted completely, (just as she'd seen his chest stop heaving from his earlier exertions on her behalf), she'd seen a gentle soul in there. It might have been wrapped up in a whole lot of gruff and grumble, but there was something in the way that he'd looked at her, that made her trust him right away.

It was instinct.

Now granted, given her choice in 'life partners,' one might say that Carol Pelletier did not have the 'greatest' of radars when it came to differentiating between good men and bad. And Carol would allow that a person who was to say something like that, might have a little point there. She had made a BAD choice, picking a bad man. But if anything, being with someone so cruel for so many years, had taught her a few harsh lessons in human behavior.

Most of which she could have lived without.

But the one _good_ thing that she'd taken from her time with Ed, was an ability now, to more easily find the kindness in others. And a bit scruffy or not, there was kindness in this man Daryl. He wouldn't drag them down an alley, or dump them off on the sidewalk in the middle of nowhere. No, he would look after her and Sophia until he could find a safe place to leave them. Carol nodded to herself.

She was sure of it.

It was just then that Carol realized the subject of her musings had suddenly stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk.

So she stopped too.

It was pretty quiet on the stretch of road where they were now, just passing out from under a street lamp next to an empty lot. It was dark over there. But above them she could hear that faint hiss of the sodium light.

It seemed to be dying.

But then Carol thought she heard something else. A funny sound that she couldn't quite place. And she was rolling it around in her head, trying to figure out what it could be, when suddenly Daryl reached back and grabbed her hand. His fingers clenched down hard.

His breath was coming out tight.

"Hold onto your girl and move your feet."

That was all he said. Then he was pulling her forward, quickly, quickly, further up the deserted sidewalk, and then out into the empty street. They were moving really fast. Enough for Carol to begin to lose her breath after only a minute.

Still, she gasped out through the thick, humid, city air.

"Daryl, what's wrong?!"

"Tell you when we stop," he murmured back, "just keep moving now. Stay quiet. Hold your girl."

So she did. She did all of those things . . . because she trusted him.

And he kept them moving like that up and over, almost three full city blocks. That was a long distance as a crow flies. And by the time they broke out off of the side street that he'd yanked them down a minute before, she could see that Daryl was puffing hard too.

As hard as she was.

But it was busier now on this main boulevard. More people were around them. Still not a good neighborhood, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that there were more people. It made Carol feel a little better. Apparently it made Daryl feel a bit better too.

Because that's when he finally stopped them running.

"Okay now," he let out on a slow exhale as he pulled them off to the side, in front of a raggedy metal fence protecting an old house . . . he was trying to catch his breath, "should be safe here."

"What?!" She panted back, her fingertips lightly pressing into her daughter's slim shoulders . . . Sophia was gasping too, "why's it safer here?! What happened back there?!"

For a second Daryl didn't answer. He just stared over at her, his face flushed with a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. It was clear as day, in the other twitchy light hanging over their heads. And she could see how in the way that he was staring at her, that he was most likely debating what to say.

Finally his jaw twitched.

"Was a noise back there," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers . . . they were deadly serious, "like a growling kind of. Sorta like a dog, but not. You hear that noise, you move fast. You get out of wherever you are, and keep running until it's busy again. 'Til it's safe."

"But," Carol's brow twisted in confusion, "why? What is it?" She looked around nervously, "are there rabid dogs around here or something?"

She hadn't heard about any. But she didn't really keep up on the city news all that much.

And certainly not on their _dog bite_ statistics.

Though when she saw Daryl give his head a quick jerk, just before his brow darkened, she was pretty sure that this had nothing to do with dog bites at all.

"Not a dog," he pressed his fingertips into his forehead, "somethin' else. Seems to be some bad shi . . ." he paused with a flash to Sophia, correcting himself mid-word, " _drugs_ , going round. Bad drugs. Must have made a batch wrong," his jaw clenched, "because they're making people do bad things." He turned and gestured way off in the distance.

Carol could see a light moving in the sky, just above the buildings.

It was a couple miles back.

"You see that," he said, "that's a police helicopter. That's where it happened," he looked back down at her, "a terrible thing." Then his gaze flickered down even further.

To Sophia's.

"Something neither of you ever want to see," he continued softly, "and don't ever wanna get caught up in." His eyes snapped back up to Carol's. "So if you hear that growling sound, you do what I said. You move your butt right quick."

Feeling her stomach twist, Carol swallowed down hard, trying to push away the bile inching up in her throat.

It was fear.

"Okay," she nodded slowly while looking back and forth between him and the light she could see faintly off in the distance, "got it."

But then Daryl looked once more directed his attentions down to Sophia

"You got it too little girl? Were you listenin' to what I said?"

Though the words themselves were hard . . . his tone was soft. And Sophia looked up at him for a second, a second where Carol wasn't sure what was going to happen. Because her daughter was often scared of men.

Because she thought they were all like her father.

Even in the grocery store, if a man laughed too loudly, or walked by and brushed into their cart, sometimes she'd cower. Or her eyes would fill with tears and she'd turn away. But with Daryl she just stared up at him with no expression. No fear. But then finally she bit down on her lip, and swallowed. And who knows what happened then. Maybe she saw the same thing in his eyes that Carol herself did.

Or maybe she saw something else.

Because suddenly Sophia's back straightened, and Carol could feel the little muscles in her arm tighten as she held herself up a bit higher. With a little more confidence. Confidence was something Sophia never did have.

Her father had beaten it out of her.

"If I hear the growling," she started, whispering up to him in her small voice, "I grab Mama and I run away. Run until it's safe. Don't stop until then."

Daryl nodded back at Sophia seriously, though Carol thought she saw a faint tugging at the corner of his lip.

"That's right, girl," his voice faded as he turned away, "you run until it's safe. Don't stop until then."

And when he said that, Carol felt a faint ache in her chest. Wishing that she'd given her daughter a father more like this man. This stranger, who wanted her to be safe out in the world. Who took the time to make sure that the lesson was learned.

And that she'd listened to his words.

She liked him even more then.

And when his gaze flickered back over to hers, she couldn't stop herself . . . she gave him a soft smile. It was just a thank you. But it clearly threw him.

"What's that for?" He grunted back, the discomfort clear in his voice. So she let the smile fade a bit, not wanting to make him antsy.

"Just a thanks," she murmured, letting her eyes drift over his shoulder before they snapped back to his face again, "I appreciate you looking after us out here. Telling us what you knew to keep us safer."

"Weren't nothing," he murmured back dismissively, echoing his earlier words when she'd thanked him after the attack. And she realized then . . . gratitude made him uncomfortable.

And her expressing it, again, had caused a little bubble of awkwardness to begin filling the air.

Shoot.

Carol bit down on her lip, her tongue flickering over the earlier dried blood from when that man had struck her. And for a brief moment she didn't know how to return to that easy rapport they'd found so quickly. But then the awkwardness was broken.

By Sophia's stomach.

It grumbled . . . loudly.

And when she looked down to see her daughter's face splash pink as she pressed her hand into her too skinny belly, Daryl just snorted to himself.

Then he pulled the leather bag from his shoulder . . . Carol wouldn't have been surprised if he'd made it himself . . . and started to dig down inside.

"Here you go," he said, half into the bag, while pulling out a giant Slim Jim and holding it towards Sophia. "S'all I got to eat, but it'll fill your belly up a lil bit."

Sophia's eyes shot up to her mother's, asking silent permission

"It's okay baby," she nodded with a gentle smile, "you can take it."

And as he daughter slipped the giant, edible stick, into her slim little fingers to begin pulling at the plastic, Carol was just about to thank Daryl for that kindness too . . . whether he liked it or not. But that was when he pulled another oversized piece of smoked jerky from his bag.

This one he held out towards her.

And when she started to put her hand up, protesting that she was fine, he just grunted a snort and rolled his eyes.

"Staahp."

The drawl was so pronounced there, that she did stop. And seeing the way that he was looking at her, with a faint mixture of amusement and something else, she found herself reaching out to take the food. The first thing she'd eaten in almost twelve hours.

All of their snacks had been lost in her stolen purse.

"Thank you," she murmured while greedily ripping at the plastic, in the same way that her daughter had.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, turning back to his magic bag again, "heard you the last time."

And Carol couldn't stop the little chuckle that bubbled out.

Daryl shot her a sharp side eye at the sound, though when he looked away she was pretty sure that he was once more trying to hide a smirk.

It seemed that he found her just as curious as she did him.

Then, as she was gobbling down her first bite, he was pulling out a bottle of sweet tea.

He was like a backwoods Mary Poppins, she thought with a quiet huff.

"Only got the one extra left," he said while twisting the cap off, "you'll hafta share."

That time Carol knew better than to say the words, either of protest or gratitude. She just quirked up her lip as she gave him a quick nod.

And as she swallowed down another bite, before taking a messy gulp . . . she was more parched than hungry, which was saying something . . . she saw him pulling out a short knife from the pocket of the bag.

Before she could ask what it was for, he was already answering the question.

"Case we hear that sound again," he muttered, looking down to where he was checking the blade, "can't believe I heard it twice already." His brow darkened, "that bothers me."

Carol stared down at the knife, watching the glint as Daryl slid it back into the sheath.

"How bad was it?" She whispered, "did he . . ."

And when Daryl's eyes snapped up to hers, she trailed off.

So she started again . . . this time just mouthing the words.

Little ears were standing too close.

' _Did he beat her to death?'_

Maybe it was morbid to want to know what exactly had happened. But she didn't think so. She was thinking that maybe it was just good common sense to find out what was going on down here in these bad neighborhoods they were wandering through. Because whatever it was, it had obviously made quite the impression on Daryl. He was rattled pretty badly.

And he didn't seem to be the rattling type.

Still though, as the seconds passed, more and more, and he just looked at her while she finished up her snack, she was thinking that maybe he wasn't going to answer the question at all.

Finally though, his jaw clenched and his head turned with a tiny jerk.

"Naw," he murmured while shoving the sheath into his pocket, "wasn't like that. Was worse. Much worse."

Then he stopped, bringing his hand up to start biting his thumb nail.

It was clear that he was thinking back on what he saw, so Carol didn't push him again. She let him get his thoughts together. Finally his hand dropped down and his gaze shifted back to hers.

"'Member last year, there was that bath salt thing?" He huffed out a pained breath, "was like that. Just like that."

Her brow scrunching, Carol tried to place the words Daryl was saying to her, into some context connotating drugs or violence. But in that first second, all she was getting for images on bath salts, were the little rose scented kind that Sophia gave her one year on Mother's Day.

But then her eyes shifted up and around Daryl's shoulder.

There seemed to be a drug deal going on across the street, halfway down an alley. And though she knew that she shouldn't be watching it, that those men wouldn't like that if they saw her, still, for a second Carol stared. Because she was just a forty-three year old suburban mom, and her street lingo on the drug trade was a bit hazy.

At best.

She suddenly remembered though, that bath salts had been in the news once, mentioned as a drug. So as she stared over at those men across the street, trading their little bags and dollars, she was thinking back. Flipping through the pictures in her mind.

Then suddenly she came to the right picture . . . a news headline.

" _Miami Cannibal Eats Neighbor's Face"_

Her hand flew up to slap over her mouth.

"Oh," she gasped, "oh my God."

"Yeah," Daryl grunted back, "oh your God. So now you see the concern I have after hearin' that sound twice. And that was after already watchin' the tail end of one attack."

God damn fools. That must have been one hell of a big batch that they fucked up. Like the world wasn't bad enough already. Then they had to go put that nightmare out there on the street. More people were gonna die before it was done. After hearing that second growl, of that he was sure.

He just wanted to be hell and gone before they ran across another tweaker.

Carol's eyes were darting around, even as she was reaching over to slide her arm around her daughter's slim shoulders. But Sophia was oblivious, gobbling down the last two bites of her Slim Jim.

"But how could that . . .?"

Her hissed question was cut off when suddenly another police helicopter buzzed them overhead. It made her gasp.

Because she hadn't even heard it coming.

But now the night was filled with the sounds of blades whirling and whipping, cutting through the air. And she found herself jumping back, hitting that rusty fence as the strobe light illuminated the world around them.

And then it was gone.

Flying over the building across the street, and taking off to the east.

Off to the area where they'd just come from.

For a moment Carol stood frozen, her heart pounding as she just stared off in the sky, trying to see where the light would go. How far. But then it began to slow, right before it stopped moving completely. It was just hovering there.

Like the other one still off a few miles away.

And though it was difficult to estimate by ground distances, if had flown four blocks or seven, but either way she knew that they were too close. Something else was happening.

And it wasn't far.

"Come on now," Daryl muttered tightly while reaching out to touch her shoulder.

And as her eyes snapped back to his, she saw that though he was talking to her, his gaze was locked up to the same place that hers had just been. On that bright, artificial orb.

Just hanging there over the city.

And then they heard the gunshots, echoing off from that same area, and as a bolt of fear shot into her stomach, Daryl's eyes shot down to hers.

"Need to go."

That was all he said, just before he reached for her hand again. That time she was holding the half empty bottle of sweet tea. Her eyes were locked there on the sweaty glass, like she had no idea how it had gotten there.

It took only a second for him to grab it, and shove it back into his bag.

Then he reached for her arm, and with his fingers clasped tightly around her wrist, once more the three of them were moving fast. Not running, not like before, but still dodging and weaving around the small groups on the sidewalk, trying to put some distance between themselves and whatever it was going on behind them.

Back where Daryl had heard the growling in the dark.

It wasn't until they reached the next large intersection, that Carol felt the grip on her arm lessening . . . and then his hand fell away. They were stopping for the traffic.

It was too heavy to cut across without waiting for the light.

Once again, they were all a bit breathless. Though nowhere near as bad as it had been the last time they stopped. And though Carol wanted to ask Daryl what he was thinking, if he was just being cautious, or if he really thought there could have been another terrible attack like the earlier one he said he'd seen. But she didn't ask those questions, because he seemed to be a man who answered questions honestly.

So she was scared of the answers he might give.

That there really MIGHT be some horrible, drug induced violence sweeping through this community that night. One that was causing people to do obscene, nightmarish, things.

And she and her daughter were stuck out there, walking around in the middle of it.

Her eyes shot down.

"You okay baby?" She murmured to Sophia, shaking at her side.

"Uh, huh," she bobbed her head once, sharply, before her eyes shot up to meet Carol's.

And though Carol could see fear there, it was, heartbreakingly enough, no worse than the fear that she'd been seeing in her daughter's eyes for nearly every waking day, of her young life. She'd grown up with a monster.

She was scared all the time.

Suddenly Carol wanted to apologize for that. For bringing her into that world where violence and cruelty were the gifts she received from the man who was supposed to love and protect her. But the apology would wait. Because Carol knew it clearly wasn't the time for such a thing. They would talk later, after they were settled.

After they were safe.

"Hmmm."

Hearing Daryl's soft murmur, and not knowing if he was murmuring to himself, or to her, Carol's attention shifted up from her daughter's frightened eyes, and over to the back of new acquaintance's, broad shoulders.

"You say something?" She asked quietly. And he raised his hand up, pointing across the street, and down on the opposite side of the interaction.

"Think I see some neon. Probably a couple hotels over there headin' towards that next big corner."

"Yeah," She squinted and nodded back as the traffic in front of them began to slow, "I see them too."

"All right then," he turned around, giving Sophia a solid up and down . . . Carol knew that she looked half dead on her feet, "as long as nobody's shootin' up nothin' in the doorway," his attention shifted back up to Carol, "we'll grab rooms in one of those places no matter what they look like. I wanna get off the street."

Damn it! He was _definitely_ gonna get bed bugs!

He just KNEW it!

"Yeah," Carol nodded firmly, "I'd like to get off the street too."

Boy would she ever.

So they started moving again. Another brisk pace, but nothing like before. And no holding hands.

Or anything else for that matter.

Daryl just moving them swiftly, and cleanly, along through the junkies and prostitutes, that were clogging up that block separating them from the big neon signs.

Carol kept Sophia in front of her, and slightly behind Daryl. And though again, that time he didn't put any hands on either of them to make sure they kept up and stayed together, he did reach back once or twice to guide Sophia a little further over to the side, and closer behind him. The first time was when a car went by and somebody screamed something filthy out the window at them.

The second time was when some homeless man almost bumped into their little group.

Carol wasn't sure if he was drunk or what, but whatever else it was, he did definitely seem like he might be sick too. Because he was kind of shuffling his feet and pulling at his ratty clothes, muttering about being hot.

Burning up.

Whatever was wrong with him, as they slipped down the sidewalk, trying to give him a wide berth, Carol was just praying that if he was sick, that it wasn't what she thought it might be. Because there had been something going around lately. Some kind of flu. Which was weird, because it was late in the season for an outbreak like that. Usually that sort of illness happened more around the winter months. But whatever this bug was, it hadn't gotten that memo. Because it was laying people up right and left.

And it was catching.

It had gotten bad enough that not only had some people started walking around with face masks on, but Sophia's school had even sent home a notice about it. Telling the parents in the district, that if your child was running a fever of anything over 98.6, that they weren't to send him to school. From now on the kids had to stay home until the fever passed completely.

Until they were all better.

And though that had scared Carol a bit, thinking about how serious that flu must be for them to have to take a precaution like that, it had (in a silver lining kind of way) actually worked out really well for her plans too. Because that morning, before they left on the bus, she'd called the school and said that her daughter was running a fever. So she was keeping her home.

Just like the notice said she was supposed to.

The secretary had sounded a bit rattled by that. Muttering something to herself like, "that's five just today." So even though Carol did feel a bit of a tickle of regret for upsetting the lady more than she already was, again, she tried to take the silver lining. And the silver lining there was, that them thinking Sophia might be sick, would buy them at least a week with the school district.

Not to mention the few friends that Sophia actually had in class, wouldn't be calling on them either. Because it would get around quickly that she was out sick, and nobody would be _looking_ to have their child play with anybody who had that flu.

Which meant that all they really needed to worry about was Ed.

And Ed was a big enough worry all by himself.

That was actually the one "benefit" (such as it was) of being in such a dangerous neighborhood. Because there was no way in HELL that Ed would ever come to that area, for any reason. He didn't like black people, just on principle. Yes . . . a sarcastic sigh escaped her lips . . . that was yet another sparkling attribute of her one and only.

She shook her head.

But she'd missed that in the beginning too. Christ, how could she have been so _IRRESPONSIBLY_ stupid, about so many things?!

Oh well . . . she blinked and shook her head . . . her blinders were long gone now. And she and her daughter had gotten out of that house before he'd killed them. That was enough. Now they just had to hide from him the rest of their lives. She snorted.

Piece of cake.

"Oomph."

Hearing that sound . . . as she hit an immovable object . . . was the moment when Carol realized that Daryl had stopped walking.

And she'd just slammed right into his chest.

Feeling a hot flush hit her cheeks, she looked up to see him glaring down at her with a furrowed eyebrow.

"Can you not see me standin' here, woman?" He asked with a droll crossing of his arms. "Or am I goin' all Casper and didn't know it?"

"Sorry," she murmured with a sheepish rub of her cheek, "I got a little distracted."

"Hmm, apparently so," he murmured back with a shake of his head. "But _anyway_ ," he continued on while shooting her a side eye, "this is option one here." He gestured towards the building in front of them. Three stories, dark, dirty windows, graffiti on the door.

It looked like it was about to be condemned.

"And that's option two over there."

He added the latter with a tip of his head.

For her part, Carol, after taking a step back to see better, felt it was obvious that "aesthetically" both hotels looked about the same. Awful. And they were also both 'by the hour,' establishments. That was clear from the signs with the prices out front. It was also clear from the prostitute leaning up against the light pole across the street. She was sizing up Daryl.

He wasn't paying her any attention.

"Now," Daryl looked over to Carol, "clearly neither of these places would be gettin' more than _one star_ in those travel guides. But _my take_ ," he shot her a look while pointing to the second of the two half dilapidated, buildings, "is we try that one out. See," he pointed to the sidewalk just in front of the entrance, "no empty dime bags. Just glass and needles."

"And that's, _better_?" Carol asked with a confused, slightly incredulous, shake of her head.

These were not the types of conversations that she was used to having. And once again she was finding her brain lacking the 'druggy lingo' that she needed to follow along. The chemical experimentation phase she went through during her two college years, had consisted of a few bong hits at parties, and a couple of rolled joints in her dorm room.

Clearly _NONE_ of which had prepared her for a night like this!

But then she saw Daryl shrug, somewhat dismissively, at her question. And she was even more confused than before.

How were needles a GOOD thing!?

"All things being equal," Daryl's nose scrunched up a bit, "tis a lil bit better." He shrugged, "maybe."

Then, apparently realizing that she still couldn't see his point, he began to clarify. And he did it pretty patiently too.

Or at least more patiently than she thought he would.

"What I _mean_ is," Daryl pointed to the little empty baggies down in the gutter, "if we see those round here, they're more likely than not, to have had crank in them, than pot. I'm just readin' the neighborhood on that one. So," he pointed back to the other hotel, "with no empty dimes in that general vicinity, I just think it's probably better odds on a quiet night there. You know," he made a gesture with his hands, trying for 'delicate' in front of the little girl, "people are hopefully taking smack, so they're on their way _down_ , rather than getting' hyped up."

Though he knew it was just a guess, it was a fairly educated one. Drugs bein' (thanks to Merle) one area that Daryl had a pretty good education in. And he could see that the argument he'd just made, seemed to have made an impression with Carol. Because now she was chewin' down nervous like on her busted lip, staring at that nasty litter stickin' to the sidewalk. His lips pursed.

Lots a dirty rubbers down there with the glass.

Finally she nodded.

"Okay," Carol's eyes darted up to Daryl's, "if you think it's best, I'll take your uh," she looked back down to the broken vial by her foot, "word for it."

"Well," he grunted, "better's a relative thing, but," he shrugged, "beggars can't be choosers, and we are definitely beggars tonight."

Feeling a faint, grim, smile touch her lips, Carol blinked away the hot tears forming, as her gaze fell back to the trash on the ground.

"Yeah," she sighed, "I guess that's true. So okay," she took a deep breath, "let's try it."

Though she thought that Daryl would be relieved that she was just letting him take the lead here and not trying to push him to go to a safer place, still, for a second he didn't move towards the door. Then he tipped his head down to catch her eyes. But not wanting him to see the tears still trying to form . . . how had she made such a MESS of her life(?!) . . . she tried to look away.

He just brought his hand up to her jaw, and turned her head back in his direction.

"It'll be all right," he whispered, his warm fingers pressing lightly into her skin, "you just stay close to me 'til we get to your room. Don't talk to nobody, don't make eye contact with nobody. You just mind your business, and they'll mind theirs. And you little ma'am," his hand fell as his gaze bounced down to Sophia's . . . she was staring up at him, wide eyed. "Same rules apply. And also," his nose wrinkled, "don't touch nothin,' because it's gonna be sticky."

Then he turned around with a sigh, muttering in disgust to himself.

"It's always sticky."

* * *

 _A/N 2: I thought it would be interesting to see 'tracker Daryl' and how he would have put those instincts to use in an urban setting. Pre ZA._

 _Also Daryl 101, already teaching the Pelletier ladies how to spot a Walker, and how to respond when you do. RUN, RUN, RUN! :) But Daryl is obviously intuitive. So even if he doesn't know yet what's actually happening, he would simply perceive these weird growly tweakers as 'crazy dangerous' and not people to mess with. Which really, as a life rule, I would also give a solid thumb's up to that approach of avoiding the crazy dangerous, growly, tweakers you could potentially encounter on the day to day. But, that rule is NOT used in Fear TWD. No, in that world, if you find a guy in your living room EATING A DOG, please, by all means, go lean down and see what's going on there. Because apparently everyone in THAT part of the country had suffered some sort of a brain injury which made them incapable of perceiving, or processing, the evolutionary concept of 'IMMINENT DANGER! RUN! RUN! RUN!'_

 _Again, wasn't a fan of the show :)_

 _ANYWAY, the bath salt 'zombie cannibal' incidents actually happened in 2012, but for purposes here I just shifted them back a couple of years so Carol could figure out things on her own. They did actually refer to them as sort of 'zombie' attacks, but given how that word isn't really used in this fake world, I just stuck to the cannibal part. Figured that would make the point for her, well enough :)_

 _And the flu running through the schools, that actually was from Fear TWD. I am, begrudgingly, also picking through elements of that show I remember, which I felt could have been exploited more. And making kids stay home if they have a fever, clearly would have worked to Carol's advantage if she was trying to buy herself some time. Little does she know that in a week nobody will be bothering anymore to follow up on things like that. But, live and learn! :)_

 _Lastly, Daryl clearly from the show, has a soft spot for kids. So even though in the initial episodes he wasn't showing much in the way of warm fuzzies towards Sophia personally I think in a situation like this, not being pissed off at the dying world, that is, he'd show an attachment for her more quickly. Because their relationship in this story, is almost as important as his and Carol's. I think you'll like how it goes ;)_

 _So, hopefully you folks are still enjoying how this is moving forward! My muse is still with me (god speed to the muse) so I'll try to get the next one done for mid-late week._

 _And if I didn't already send you a note of thanks for any previous reviews, thank you! They were much appreciated :)_


	3. The Edge Of The World

**Author's Note** : Once again, thanks for the feedback after the last one! And here, things are picking up! I kept hitting natural stopping points and I was like ' _no, keep going! Get to another one!_ ' because I'm trying to get them into the thick of it sooner than later. And I think this one, finally, will give you a blueprint on how things are falling apart in the world, but at the same time falling together, to keep them bonded.

Side point: I know that Sophia was supposed to be eleven or twelve on the show, but they had her with that doll. And in the 21st century, twelve's old to carry around a baby doll. Even during the apocalypse. So I'm edging her down slightly to ten going on eleven. That's actually (probably) closer to the kids' ages when they were filming season one, and then obviously months passed before it aired, and more time passed in real life than show life when things picked up again for filming and airing season two. So that could be the 'discrepancy' (as I see it) in showing behavior more likely in a younger child, than the age they gave the character just because the actress was about to hit puberty. Just a theory. Anyway, again, long story short, she's ten :)

Picking up shortly after we left them on the street.

* * *

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 **The Edge of the World**

Carol could feel the skin on her neck crawling along like there were bugs sticking to it.

And who knew . . . she pushed down a shudder . . . she might have already picked some up. Because this place . . . her gaze shifted as her lips pursed . . . it was so much worse than she'd even imagined it could be. And she'd imagined it was going to be pretty bad.

Worse still though, Daryl had been right too . . . her gaze bounced back, snapping over to him standing just to her left . . . everything here _was_ sticky. But not just sticky.

It was dark and creepy too.

That was her impression even though they were still on the first floor, and hadn't even actually left the check-in area. The front desk was right there in front of them. It was made of an old pine that had once probably been nicely varnished, but now it was just covered with digs and dents and stains.

And more than a few cigarette burns.

There were burns on the couches behind them too. Dear God those couches lining the lobby area, Carol would sooner go swimming in one of those shark cages, than sit down on one of those nasty things.

They should all be tossed in an incinerator.

Basically the whole "reception area" (such as it was) seemed to be like one giant petri dish. As far as she could make out (from the clientele, and the stains and the smells) every possible bodily fluid that a person could imagine losing, had been spewed out in one spot or another, all over the place. Down on the floor, up on the walls, the ornately carved, once pretty, support columns that lined the way in from the door to the desk. Everything was just . . . she rubbed her nose . . . uck. Blood, urine, vomit . . . sex fluids. And there was no AC to speak of, so all of that stuff was just baking in the Georgia heat.

It was enough to make your stomach flip, and then do a handstand too.

It was a bit perverse, but standing there, Carol was actually a bit grateful now that they'd been starving for most of the day. All that was in their systems, hers and Sophia's anyway, was a rapidly digesting Slim Jim and a few sips of sweet tea. Even still, even with just that tiny amount of food, she could hear her daughter gagging against her chest. But of course that might have been because of the vomit. There was a fresh splattering of it on the floor just behind where they were standing.

Carol was trying REALLY HARD, to keep either of them from stepping in it.

And Daryl, she could see from the way his nose kept wrinkling as his eyes kept blinking, that he wasn't immune to the odors around there either. She was just praying that upstairs, with less street traffic and maybe the occasional cleaning lady going through, that the smell would be less horrific. And that's what Daryl was working on.

Trying to get them upstairs, that is.

But so far it had been a good ten minutes of back and forth (with the occasional slightly raised voice) of him poking at the skuzzy, _ridiculously_ slow, completely disinterested, night clerk. When they'd first walked in and up to the desk, Daryl had told him that he needed, quote, "two separate rooms for one full night," which seemed like a pretty straight forward request as far as Carol was concerned. But the clerk wasn't in any hurry at all to get that simple request done.

He kept stopping to turn and watch a boxing match going on a corner TV.

He'd do that, then Daryl would say something, generally something with an edge, and the man would shoot him a wary glare, but then he'd start flipping through his log book and key box again.

The whole thing was taking forever.

And even though Daryl was busy attempting to keep the check-in process moving, at the same he was also keeping a close watch over his shoulder. Over to her and Sophia. To make sure that nobody was hassling them. There was a reason for that though. A good one. Because somebody had tried to grab Sophia not twenty seconds after they'd walked in there. Feeling another twist in her stomach, Carol grimaced just thinking back.

That creepy horrible man, had actually put his _HAND,_ on Sophia's head!

It was all her fault though, Carol kicked herself again, Daryl had given her a simple safety instruction and yet she'd SCREWED it up! Before they'd come inside, he'd told her to stay, "right," with him. But she had thought (stupidly, now that she'd learned her lesson too late) that she could stand just a few FEET, away from him, and that would be the same. That that would be all right. That they would still be 'with' him, but then she wouldn't be right up practically with her nose in his back. It was enough that Carol had Sophia's face buried in her chest. The two of them didn't need to be hanging off him like heavy peaches about to fall off the tree. A couple feet wouldn't make any difference to the safety zone.

That's what she'd thought.

But Daryl had obviously known better. Because leaving that three foot buffer between them, had made her and Sophia an immediate target. There were some sketchy men hanging around in that lobby, pimps likely, given the way they were talking to the working ladies that were coming in and out and off the elevators. And by standing back, Carol and her daughter had looked like they were alone.

Like they were _waiting_ , to go up to the counter next.

And it wasn't, God, just those damn SECONDS that they were standing there, with Carol trying to keep her eyes down on her own business (like Daryl had said), when this huge man suddenly popped up out of her blind spot. He was big, bald, and reeking of sour sweat, and old cigarettes. It was like those smells were just bleeding out of his pasty, pock marked, skin. And then he was leering down, RIGHT in their space, with that hot, nasty breath just blowing over them.

And before Carol could even react beyond a started stumble . . . he had his hand on Sophia's head. He was saying what a pretty little girl she was, what pretty hair . . . but that was all he got out. Because then Daryl was there.

And Daryl took care of it.

Between the two of them, that hulk had to have a good four inches of height and two inches of bicep on their newfound protector. But that didn't stop their guy from knocking that terrible man back, and then going right up, chest to chest. And then he'd growled out, "you touch her again you're gonna lose that hand, motherfucker."

It was . . . Carol bit down on her lip as she thought back . . . brave.

Really brave. Even more so than how he'd knocked that guy off of her out in the street. There at least he'd had the upper hand. There in the dark, with the element of surprise. Here, they were inside, a more confined space, and the lights (with the exception of a few key bulbs) were on and flickering. He was like David with Goliath.

If Goliath was a stinking pedophile.

And as the moment had started to kind of spread out, the way moments like that do, Carol saw that everyone around them, the junkies sharing needles, and the prostitutes and their johns, had stopped. Like there was an electricity in the air. And she'd been terrified then for not only for her daughter, and what that bad man would do to her if he could, but for Daryl too. That maybe the guy would pull out a gun or a knife, or just be too big for Daryl to handle. But, she'd been wrong. In the end, thinking back, it almost didn't even seem to be a real fight anymore. Because Daryl had always had the upper hand.

She just hadn't known it yet.

But when she saw that big, creepy hulk start to reach out for the scruff of her new friend's shirt . . . that's when it happened. Daryl punched him straight up in the throat. Hard as he could. Or at least she was pretty sure that it was as hard he could, and she did have some experience in gauging that kind of stuff. Either way, she'd never seen anything like what he did. The guy just . . . DROPPED!

Like a bag of cement thrown out a window.

Then he was down there on that nasty, nasty red carpet runner by the front desk, gagging and choking and clawing at his throat, just trying to breath. Given the force of that hit though, Carol was pretty sure that his wind pipe was swelling up bad.

It didn't seem to faze Daryl in the slightest though.

He'd just taken a step back and looked down for a second, his head tipped to the side, like he was sizing up the situation. Trying to see if anything else needed to be done. But it was barely three spastic beats of her pounding heart, and he was turning around. All he did when he walked by her and Sophia, was lightly run his fingers over her shoulder.

"Move up lil bit," he murmured with a soft pat.

And then he went back to checking them in.

And that useless night clerk, he'd looked over at the floor for a second, probably just trying to figure out if the other guy was dead, then he'd grunted and gone back to digging through the keys. Other than that, everybody else, the nine or ten people spread around the immediate vicinity, they all just went right back to doing their thing. Be it working a john or getting their fix. Beat downs in the lobby probably happened every few hours around there.

It was sort of amazing they even stopped to look.

But as Carol stood there, half in shock at everything happening so quickly, her eyes had darted anxiously back and forth between the writhing body on the ground . . . terrified that maybe he would somehow recover and try to rush Daryl . . . and Daryl himself, bent over digging into his bag for the cash that he'd said he had for the rooms. Then he'd looked over at her, and tipped his head, reminding her to move closer. But as she slowly inched Sophia up to close the gap separating them from him, all Carol could think on, was how she'd felt when this man had first barreled into their lives.

Barely a few hours ago.

Once more though, he'd demonstrated that unusual mixture of hard and soft in him. A man who could decimate that goliath's windpipe with one punch, and then still give her a gentle pat of reassurance when he was done. And he'd used the same hand to do both.

That point had not escaped her attention.

And it wasn't that Carol was a stranger to sharp, sudden, violence. Clearly, her years with Ed had somewhat dulled her to the concept of 'surprise' when someone's fist flew out, without warning. But the way Daryl behaved, it was so different than everything she'd ever known about a person who could perpetrate that type of violence. Because all Ed's hands knew how to do was to hurt. They didn't know how to protect.

And they didn't how to soothe.

But it seemed that Daryl's hands could do all three.

And perhaps, if she hadn't been so God damn terrified of her own shadow that night, Carol might have (foolishly) interpreted the little tickle that she felt for him then . . . as attraction. But given that she was pretty much, not so metaphorically, "shaking in her boots," and just wanted nothing more than to grab her daughter and go hide under the bed, any bed at all, she'd decided that tickle was born of nothing more than gratitude and admiration. Because her life was FAR too complicated for it to be anything else.

Even if he did have those pretty eyes.

"Quit lookin'."

Hearing Daryl's quiet drawl suddenly form as a whisper in her ear, Carol's head snapped up.

"What?" She gasped back, startled that maybe he'd somehow heard her thoughts about him.

Though, of course, that was absolutely RIDICULOUS!

"I _said_ ," Daryl looked down at Carol with a quirked eyebrow, "quit lookin'. He ain't gettin' up." His own attention briefly shifted over to the man on the ground before it bounced back to the clerk countin' out his change.

"Trust me."

If there was one thing that Daryl Dixon knew how to do, it was to put down a son of a bitch that needed puttin' down. And Merle had taught him that throat move when he was fifteen, and Merle was home on leave for the first time. They were doing Army maneuvers in the yard. Unfortunately Merle had taught him that _particular_ maneuver by demonstratin' it, on Daryl personally.

Which Daryl, and his half swollen shut windpipe, could have done without.

But the lesson still took, even if he hadn't been able to eat for three days. If they were bigger and stronger you just moved fast, and cut off the oxygen. They'll drop like an ox.

Every time.

Though it was clear that Carol didn't quite understand that yet. She still looked scared, like that guy . . . Daryl scowled . . . freakin' sicko peed-ophile . . . was gonna get up again.

And he would have likely had to answer some other questions from her like, "is he gonna die?" Or some other such nonsense that did not concern Daryl in that moment. So it was fortunate that he'd finally gotten that asshole behind the counter to quit fucking around. And as the three tens (Daryl's change from the hundred for two forty-five dollars rooms) and two plastic handled room keys were slapped down on the cracked varnish, he quickly reached out to snatch them up. And with the elevator just a few feet away, he was able to distract Carol from both the peed-ophile, and the questions. He just put his arm up and shuffled her and Sophia over to the open doors.

A hooker and her john had just stepped off.

After they stepped inside, the ladies moved back and over to the far corner. And as the doors began to slide shut all on their own, Daryl reached forward to press his thumb down on the number three. It wasn't until he was pulling that thumb away, that he scowled.

Yep . . . he scrubbed his hand down the side of his pants leg . . . sticky!

God damn it!

He grunted out loud to himself, as he looked up expectantly at the little arrow over the door, waiting for it to start moving.

It was takin' a minute.

It was just then that he noticed Sophia peeking up at him. Really it was half peeking, half still hiding her face in her mama's bosom. And he suddenly wondered if maybe she might now be a little bit afraid of him.

What with punchin' that guy in the throat and all.

And though Daryl was not planning on having a 'long term' relationship with these ladies, he didn't want them to be afraid of him neither. Especially the little one. If her daddy was the one that had left the marks on her shoulders, she'd probably already spent far too many of her young days bein' afraid of men. Be good if she knew they weren't all monsters.

At least he wasn't most days.

So as the car finally started to jerk into motion, slowly inching up with a creak and a shudder, he pushed his bag back on his shoulder. And after shooting a quick glance up to Carol, who was just staring at the door still with those scared eyes . . . she was probably reaching her limit . . . he stooped down in front of her daughter.

For her part, Sophia only shrank back a little. But it was enough to confirm that this was a conversation they needed to have.

He took a breath.

"You know that was a bad man, right?"

His words were quiet, though curious. Because he honestly wanted to know what she thought here. How much of the world she understood. But for a second she just stared up at him, her eyes wide with guilt and fear, like he'd just caught her thinking out loud. But after another beat of silence, Daryl saw those little lips press together right before she looked to the floor, and bobbed her head. Just once.

It seemed that she was gettin' his point, and where he might be goin' with it.

Good.

"Okay then," he continued softly, hoping to drive that point home, "so you don't hafta be afraid of me. Because I only hit him because he was a bad man, and he was touchin' you. I know we just met and all," his expression softened as her eyes snapped back to his, "and you don't know me very well, but I do promise," he brought his hand up to his chest and made a fist, "that as long as you and I are acquaintances, I'm not gonna let anybody bother you and your mama. And if I hafta be a little rough about that, it's because it's the only way to be. Bad men like that don't respond to talkin'. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

Again, Daryl could see Sophia staring up at him, though now her eyes weren't so wide and frightened. Then she bit down on her lip.

"Yeah."

The word came out barely on a whisper, and Daryl figured that was likely the end of it. That he'd made his point and she'd taken it in the best her little brain could. But then she surprised him.

She gave him a little smile.

It came out a bit grim, and just barely made her lip curl up a bit, but it was still there clear as day. And it was something that gave him a twinge in his gut. Because suddenly he felt bad, real bad, that all this stuff was happenin' to her. Almost saw her momma get raped, then that son of a bitch (who woulda done the same to her ten times over) had put his hands on her in the lobby. Not to mention the whores and the druggies all laying about doing their thing.

Her mama's bosom wasn't hidin' all that stuff from her.

But still, here she was trying to give _HIM_ a smile. Trying to show him that she could take it.

Even if he knew she shouldn't have to.

"Good girl," he whispered, his eyes crinkling faintly. Then he looked up at Carol, who was looking down at him with a face that he couldn't quite read.

But there was a sheen on her eyes.

Then she blinked, and gave him a little smile. Hers was a bit wider than her daughter's, though it was still one coming out from sadness and fear.

He stood up then and let out a puff of air.

"Shouldn't be but a minute," he murmured, looking up at the arrow still inching up, as the car creaked along. And he heard her whisper back.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "we're getting there."

And he knew that they were both just filling the empty space. But that was okay.

Because suddenly there was a lotta space to fill.

They were quiet though for the last thirty or so seconds of their elevator trip. And then the car came to a sudden stop, and the doors slowly creaked open.

The floor was quiet. And didn't smell near so bad as the lobby did.

Thank God.

So Daryl put his arm up to hold the door back, and gestured for the ladies to go through. Once they were clear, he followed along behind, murmuring their room numbers.

"Lookin' for three-two four, and three-two eight."

"Um," Carol pointed to the left, "that's three-one one, so," she looked to the other side of the hallway, "even numbers should be over here on the right."

"Hmmm," Daryl murmured again, that time because he was tensing up, watching as one of the doors up ahead started to open. But it was just an old man that stepped out. Bright white afro, freckles on his dark skin. His clothes were a bit wrinkled, but he looked clean. Like he tried to take care of himself a lot more than most people round there.

And he was at least eighty if he was a day.

When he saw them walking up, even though their group had a scrawny little girl in it, he looked scared frozen. Like he didn't know if he should dart back inside again. And Daryl knew that man musta fallen on hard times. Probably lived in this hotel now.

And probably lived in fear every day that he did.

So Daryl gave him a little nod as he moved himself, and shifted the ladies, a bit to the right. Trying to give him some space.

Again, he didn't wanna scare nobody that didn't deserve it.

"S'okay old timer," he tried to project his voice loud enough for those ancient ears to hear it, "just coming through. No harm."

And the man swallowed and clutched the door frame, like maybe he'd heard that one before. But then Carol, who had had a hell of a night of her own, slowed a bit and turned to give that old man a nice smile. A gentle one. As though she didn't like him being scared of them either.

"You have a good night," she said softly.

The man seemed to relax a bit then. And he coughed and nodded.

"You too ma,am."

Daryl couldn't help but take note that the old man's drawl was even deeper than his own. Must be from somewhere down in The Delta. He grunted to himself.

Shoulda stayed there.

But at least he was harmless, because Daryl really didn't want to have to do anymore fightin' that night. It had been a long day, and he was getting tired of dealing with assholes.

Hell, he was just gettin' plain old tired, period.

Fortunately though, just then he heard Carol, a few steps ahead of him, call back.

"Oh, here's one of them."

Then she let go of Sophia to take a few more quick steps, and put her arm out to point.

"Here's the other."

"Hmm," his mouth twisted, "why don't you take that one. It's on the end," he put his hand out to the little shoulder, guiding Sophia forward, towards her mama, "so you'll only have neighbors on one side."

It would also leave Daryl as a bit of a buffer between them and anybody that might come down the hall, but he didn't say that part. He just walked them up to the door she was pointing at, and pulled the two keys from his pocket.

"Let me check it first," he murmured, while sliding the right set of little metal teeth into the brass lock. Because it would just be their luck that night, the asshole desk clerk woulda sent them up to a room with somebody already inside.

But as Daryl slowly pushed the door back, and reached over to snap the light, he didn't see nothin' out of place.

"S'okay," he muttered while stepping through, "come on in."

And as the ladies followed him in, he pulled the key out from the lock, and then passed it over to Carol.

"Hold this one second," he said, his eyes tracking towards the two doors that he hadn't looked in yet.

First a quick check of the closet . . . and then the bathroom. The second being, almost impressively cleaner than he'd thought it would be. Smelled a bit of bleach, and the towels were almost white. There was even a little unopened package of soap on the counter.

That was a shocker.

"All right," he turned around, and started directing his remarks across the room, even as he checked the locks on the front facing window just next to the bathroom door, "you two should be okay in here."

He turned around then, his eyes snappin' over to see Carol standing in the middle of the room, with Sophia tucked up in front of her. The expression on both their faces as they looked around, could clearly be described as, "unsettled."

"Now, Carol," his eyebrow inched up as he walked closer, "after everything we've gone through tonight, you know I wouldn't leave you in here if I didn't think it would be safe."

Carol looked up at Daryl, and then back around the room . . . and then over to him again.

She took a breath.

"Yeah," she tried to give him a little smile, "I know. I just," she blinked back the moisture trying to form, "it's the first time I've slept anywhere but home in over a decade. And I just didn't," she looked up at him with a sad smile, "I just didn't think starting over would be like this."

But she should have known better. The universe that had thrown Ed into her path, wasn't going to let her just walk away with rose petals thrown at her feet. This was going to be a long road. She bit down on her lip as she took in the water stains on the ceiling, and the holes in the carpet.

She just didn't think it would be this dark a path to start.

"Hey."

Hearing Daryl start to speak, she looked up to see that he was stopping just in front of them.

"Yeah," her eyes widened.

"Startin' over's always hard," he said softly, "and it's never like the picture books. But you gotta a roof over your head, a lock for the door, and no man here to hit you tonight." His lips twisted in a faint, wry smile.

"That's pretty good for your first day in the new world, right?"

Feeling hot tears begin to burn her eyes, Carol sucked in a breath as she gave Daryl a bright, watery, _grateful,_ smile.

"Yeah," she nodded firmly, trying to swallow over the lump, "you're right." She reached up to snag a tear that was starting to spill over, "that's all we need for day one."

They were both quiet for a second, then she bit down on her lip.

"Thank you for everything," she shook her head, "we would not have gotten even to here without your help. And before you say it," she shot him a look, "it _wasn't_ nothing. You picked us up, and kept us safe, when things could have gone really bad, more than once." She gave him a soft smile.

"You were our guardian angel."

"Pfft," Daryl looked down with a snort, trying to deflect from the heat he could feel crawling up his face, "me with angel wings," he shot her a little smirk, "that's a good one."

Feeling a warm spot of affection for this man that she barely knew, Carol found herself giving him a knowing nod.

"I can see them," she said seriously. Then she grinned as another tear slipped over. "Though your halo might be a little banged up."

"Yeah," Daryl snorted a chuckle, "that's for sure!" Then he took a step to walk around them.

"All right then ladies," he let out on a sigh, "you know where I am if you need me."

He started towards the door.

"Just lock up tight, keep your curtains shut, and," he finished with a point towards the desk, "put that chair there under the doorknob."

Feeling like he'd covered about everything that they needed to know, Daryl stopped in the doorway and turned around, reaching up with one arm, to tap his fingers on the top of the frame.

Surprisingly, it wasn't sticky up there.

"I'll see ya in the mornin'," he called over, "we'll come up with a plan then on findin' you a better place to stay tomorrow night."

"Okay," Carol let go of Sophia so she could walk over and lock up, "sounds good."

And though she expected he would leave then, for a moment though, Daryl just stood there. Then he slipped his bag down from his shoulder, and opened it up.

A second later he pulled out a Slim Jim.

"Here," he pushed it into her hand, "last one." His voice dropped as his eyes shifted over to Sophia slowly sliding her little pink backpack down from her shoulder, "she shouldn't go to bed with a rumblin' belly."

At that, Carol felt a new lump form in her throat. One which she again tried to push down. Because her bursting into tears over a little act of kindness for her poor daughter who had seen too little kindness from her actual daddy, would probably make Daryl very uncomfortable.

So instead she took a breath.

"You're a good man Daryl Dixon," she said while breathing it out, with the small snack clutched in her hand, "and I hope nobody's ever told you any different."

Then she popped up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. And as he stood there, looking down, a bit stunned, she gave him a gentle smile.

"Good night."

"Yeah," he stumbled back a step, "night."

Then she closed the door in his face.

For a second Daryl stood there, listening as the locks turned and the chain jangled, and the chair scraped across the floor. Finally, he turned away and started walking back down to his own door. Just before he slid the key into the lock, he paused, his hand coming up to press down on his cheek. He took a breath.

 _Huh._

/*/*/*/*/

It didn't take Daryl long to get to laying down.

After locking up in the same fashion that he'd instructed Carol . . . he didn't need to get his throat slit in his sleep either . . . he checked the windows, and then started peeling off all of his shit. After a few hours of hiking around in that humidity, he needed a shower. And he could have lived with just rinsing off, but he lucked out gettin' one of those tiny little unopened sample soaps in his bathroom too.

Was only 'bout half the size of his palm, but it did the trick.

Because by the time he'd turned off the lukewarm water, he wasn't grimy, and he'd smelled clean. And that was enough. So after he'd checked the towels for roaches . . . didn't find any, good stuff there . . . he grabbed one and dried himself off.

Then he pulled his boxers back on because God knew he was not sleepin' _BARE ASS_ in that bed!

Yeah, when he pulled back the blankets, it did seem like the sheets were clean, but he still didn't trust 'em. And he was too tired to take a close look for those bed bugs, so he was just keepin' a good thought on that one. At the least, there was nothing obvious marchin' about in there. But those sons a bitches were small.

And it would only take one to fuck things up.

But he knew that he couldn't keep bothering himself worryin' about a thing he couldn't control. So finally he just hit the overhead light, and walked over to drop down on the edge of the mattress.

For a second Daryl sat there debatin' with himself as to whether or not to keep the top sheet on the bed. But then he took note at how crappy the air conditioning was. It sucked a bit of the moisture out of the air, but it sure as hell didn't make it cold.

Him having a wet head was probably the only thing keeping him from breaking out into a sweat again.

But he knew that the sweats would be happenin' again soon enough, because the heat was gonna keep pressin' down no matter what. So with a huff, he just kicked all the blankets down on the floor, and flopped back on the pillow with one of his arms folded up over his eyes.

He was trying to keep out the glare from the street lights. Because after four decades of sleeping the majority of his nights in a small town . . . or out in the woods . . . city lights always kept him up. The noise didn't help either. Lotsa traffic and people talkin' loud out down there in the street. But mostly it was just the lights that pissed him off.

Couldn't get used to 'em.

After a while though, Daryl felt himself fading off. Dozing a bit, thinking about those growling noises off in the dark.

And then suddenly his eyes snapped open wide again.

"What the fuck?"

The question was muttered to himself, as he tried to figure out what had woken him up. Because he was pretty sure that he'd been full on asleep. But then that question about his wake up call, answered itself.

In the next breath his heart shot up into his throat, and he was spinning over and throwing himself down on the musty carpet.

"SHIT!"

God damn GUN show was going out in the street! Even from that third floor room, he could hear bullets flying and glass breaking, couple, three women screaming. And a WHOLE lotta pitched yelling! One of 'em was something like a holler of . . . his brow wrinkled as he tried to focus in between the shots . . . get him. Get him. Sweet Jesus, shoot him again. Again.

Again.

Or somethin' like that.

Somethin' _real_ close like that. Something that caused that tickle in his brain to come back. And then suddenly something else flashed through his brain . . . CAROL!

"AH FUCK!"

That woman wouldn't have the first damn CLUE what to do in somethin' like this! Not that he was any kind of hero, but he'd spent more than a little effort that night in keeping that woman and her daughter safe and sound . . . he started crawling along the floor . . . so he sure as shit didn't want it all to go south now!

So once he got to the desk, he reached up and snatched his jeans down from the back of the chair. And after he'd shimmied into them and got half the zipper up . . . good enough to keep 'em on his ass . . . he crawled back over to the bed. There, he grabbed his knife off the nightstand and his satchel full of cash up off the floor, and started headin' for the door.

Still though, he stayed down low until he was out in the hallway. Because there were way too many bullets still flyin' outside to do anything else.

Not unless he had a death wish.

But once he had his door yanked shut, he jumped up to his feet, to run down and start poundin' on Carol's door.

"IT'S ME! IT'S DARYL!" he yelled, "OPEN UP WOMAN!"

And then he heard feet pounding and the chair movin,' and the frantic scramble of her pulling the chain and turning the lock. When the door finally flew back, and Daryl saw her there in her shortie shorts and tank pajamas, eyes wide as saucers and filled with terror, he knew it had been the right decision to come for them. Whether he'd planned on it or not.

He was responsible.

"Come on now!" He pushed her back inside with a shove towards the carpet, "on the floor! You," he yelled over to Sophia clutching a doll, and crying in the middle of one of the two double beds.

"Darlin' get down from there and get on the floor with your mama!"

To her credit, that girl was moving her little butt before he'd even finished yelling at it.

Then with himself still crouched down, half on his knees, Daryl turned around to slam the door shut. Then he strained, wincing at the stab in his lower back, as he reached up to turn the locks and hit the big light on the wall. Because they needed it to be dark. It wouldn't do to make needless targets of themselves.

Plenty of those going on already.

Then he was spinning around and shoving the chair back into place as a blockade, even while he was yelling for Carol to pull Sophia into the bathroom.

"Go! Go! Go!" he hollered as the chair slammed into the doorknob. "Faces in the dirt!"

And then he turned to start crawling after them.

The still sheathed knife was in his hand, and the satchel with six grand in Merle's drug money was hanging off his shoulder, and dragging on the carpet.

His heart was still pounding in his chest.

Because the screamin' and gunfire outside, it was gettin' worse. If he had to call it, given the semi-auto fire he could hear . . . not to mention at least a half dozen or so high cal handguns . . . he'd say close to a hundred rounds had already flown. Maybe more.

He just couldn't imagine anyone still _STANDIN'_!

It was just then that he finally reached the bathroom, and finding Carol and Sophia still gettin' through the door, he pushed them forward.

"Get her in the tub," he muttered, with his hand pressing down on Carol's hip, trying to keep them moving across the cracked tile, "keep her down low in there til it stops."

"Okay, okay," Carol panted back, as she half dragged, half carried her sobbing daughter across the small tile room. And as they were climbing into the bathtub, trying not to slip in the puddles left over from their earlier showers, she shot Daryl a desperate look.

"What is going ON out there!?" She bit out half on a hysterical sob.

"Don't know," he shot back, with his eyes looking almost as wild as hers felt, "but it's bad. At least it's out there though." He slumped down, pressing his back against the vanity as he tried to let out a ragged breath. "We just gotta stay in here and not catch anythin' not meant for us. Those strays can go high if nobody's payin' attention to the bystander situation."

"Right," Carol bit her lip as she pulled Sophia in even closer, tucking her head down into her lap, "right, okay."

And yet again, Daryl's street smarts meet Carol's suburban ignorance. Because when she'd first been jolted awake by the sound of those first bullets, she'd had NO idea what to do!

She was just huddled down under the covers with Sophia, trying, fruitlessly, to calm her hysterical daughter.

Thank GOD Daryl had pounded on the door!

And now that he'd gotten them all huddled into the bathroom, for awhile there was no sound but for their ragged breathing, Sophia's quieting tears, and those continuing, muffled, screams and gun shots.

"Jeezus, what is this," Daryl finally murmured into his hands, almost in disbelief, "going on fifteen minutes now since it started?"

"Definitely going on fifteen," Carol agreed with a sharp nod, "but I think it sounds like they're getting a little farther away." Her eyes shot over to him slumped down on the floor, his knife and bag lying there next to him.

"What do you think?"

She saw him pull his hands down then, tipping his head to listen.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly, "they are on the move, good call. And the automatic fire's gone, probably out of rounds, but they still ain't done yet. That's the thing of it," he shook his head slowly, "never heard one go on so long. Usually you get a drive by or a rumble, bit a back and forth. Somebody takes their pound, somebody hits the dirt and stays down there. It doesn't just keep _goin'_ like God damn Baghdad or somethin'."

"But this one is going like Baghdad," Carol whispered back softly, and he nodded.

"Yeah, and that bothers me." His jaw clenched, "bothers me like that growlin' in the dark. And I don't know why I'm associatin' one with the other. Because that couldn't have been a tweaker. I mean," he brought one of his hands up to tug at his hair, "I guess it could have started that way, but that's not cops down there. That's definitely a local crew. And I heard at least two semi-auto rifles, and those alone, that many bullets would have torn a tweaker to shreds in minutes. He woulda been down, and they woulda stopped then."

He looked back to the door, feeling the icy tips on his spine as he listened to the echoes of the bullets still being fired off in the distance.

"Why hasn't it stopped?"

"Maybe it was more than one."

Feeling his breath catch, Daryl's his head whipped around so he was looking straight on at Carol.

"What?" He breathed out softly. "What are you thinkin'?"

"Well," Carol scrubbed her hand nervously across her jaw, "just what you said about there being a bad batch of drugs making people do bad stuff, and how based on what we saw walking up here from the corner, this," she huffed humorlessly, " _clearly_ is a block where a lot of users hang out. So maybe," her brow furrowed, "the tweakers?"

Daryl nodded slowly, not at all liking where Carol was going with this.

"Yeah," he breathed out, "that's the word."

"Okay," she swallowed, "the tweakers. Maybe there are more of them here. Because it kind of stands to reason, that if there's a higher concentration of users on this block, as it seemed to be, then there are higher odds of that bad stuff showing up here in more people." Her lips pressed together, "that's just numbers."

Then she paused, thinking about what she'd said.

"Does what I said really make sense?" She finally asked him, "because you know I don't know much about," she spun her hand, "all this drug stuff, but I was just trying to think it through logically."

For a second Daryl just sat there, staring, and then he slowly nodded. Almost more to himself than to her.

"You're a real smart cookie." He whispered.

And when she looked over at him in confusion, he scrubbed his hand across his forehead.

"I'm saying that the way you walked through that," he explained, "it was just fine. It made sense. If you saw what I saw though, you'd know how it scare's the SHIT _outta_ me thinking about more than one of them flipping out at the same time." Then his voice faded. "But it makes sense."

And now there was nothing he wanted more than to jump up and get the hell out of that city. But even if World War III wasn't currently running through that neighborhood, obviously . . . if Carol was right . . . it wasn't safe being out after dark at all. So they had to stay up in their little tower, until the sun was well up, and the junkies were all hibernatin' away.

Like cockroaches.

"I'm glad you got us the third floor rooms," Carol murmured after a quiet pause. And Daryl's head came up before he nodded over at her with a faint snort.

"Yeah, that was a lucky break he gave 'em to me. He tried to say they were just for long term," he rolled his eyes, "' _guests_.' But I was just thinkin' it would be quieter up here away from the street noises. I had _not_ ," he shot Carol an ironic look, "been considerin' the stray bullet factor."

But in the future when he went to book himself a hotel room in the city . . . he would be.

"Well whatever the reasoning," she gave him a tight smile, "at least we're up here and not right on the street level."

Small favors that day. For every horrible thing that happened to them, there was a faint, film, of a silver lining. Which generally . . . she huffed to herself . . . revolved around something involving Daryl.

"Yeah," Daryl murmured as his attention shifted to stare at the tile floor beneath them, almost like he could see through, "wonder how they made out down on one and two."

It'd be a damn miracle if nobody had gotten hit. Really, it would be a bigger miracle if nobody had gotten _killed_. And thinkin' back on the hookers getting on and off the elevator, it was probably mostly them and their johns down there doing their short term business. What a way that would be to go . . . he scowled . . . popped in the head while gettin', (or _givin')_ , a twenty dollar bounce.

That's just undignified.

Though that was a pondering, that he chose not to share aloud with Carol. She didn't have the same kinds of nasty images in her head, that he did.

And where it was possible . . . he bit down a sigh . . . he'd kind of prefer it stay that way.

So he just listened to the harsh breathing that was coming from across the room. But then Daryl suddenly heard a different noise, a new one, and his back straightened.

"Sirens," he muttered, before pausing to listen a second, "at least two. Maybe three."

'Bout damn time! Though as a rule, Daryl was not a big fan of the police. He'd met too many of them over the years that were a little too hyped up on their own power, and on their inability to listen to the arguments of circumstance.

Of which he had been a victim of, on occasion.

That said, he did of course understand there were times the police served a needed purpose. Like when a couple hundred rounds were bein' sprayed non-stop through a big city neighborhood.

They had their purpose then.

And he gave them another minute to roll up and spread out. So that when the sound of breaks screechin' and doors slammin', finally filled in the same outdoor space where all the bullets had been, he slowly pushed himself up to his feet.

His knees creaked a bit.

"You stay here," he murmured to Carol as he kicked his bag off to the side, "I'll check it out."

Then he reached out with one hand on the light switch, and the other on the doorknob.

"Gonna turn this off for a second," he said with a slight head jerk, "but I'll leave the door open so it won't be pitch."

"Okay," she whispered back with a nervous run of her fingers through Sophia's hair . . . her daughter had fallen back to sleep, "we'll sit tight."

So then Carol watched as Daryl hit the lights before slowly opening up the door.

The room outside was of course still dark, but with the street lamps glowing in through those thin curtains, she could see the outline of things pretty well. And so she saw him step out, and then disappear for a second, before he showed up again leaning against the other side of the wall.

Then she saw him poking his head towards the window as he snagged the curtain with his finger.

"Ah Christ," He muttered bitterly, and Carol felt a fresh jolt of fear.

"What is it?" She called over in a harsh whisper. But then she saw his hand come around behind his back, with his index finger standing up.

He wanted her to wait a minute.

She sighed.

Okay. So she waited. It wasn't another twenty or thirty seconds before she saw him freeze up, right before the sounds of outside yelling drifted up through the glass. It wasn't loud enough to make out any of the words being said . . . at least not from where she was . . . but it was loud enough to know that there was an argument happening out there. And then the yelling all fell away at once. And it seemed like everything was quiet again. But then suddenly Carol heard a loud pop, and Daryl jumped and swore.

"Jesus!"

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . she winced . . . _five._ Six. Six pops . . . six _shots_ . . . one right after another.

She could hear the echo.

And that was the _police_ out there!? What the HELL was going on!

And she wanted to call out to Daryl again, but she was almost too stunned to speak. But that didn't matter, because it was only a few more seconds that she saw him come away from the window and stagger back over towards the bathroom door.

She couldn't see his face though, because it was still dark.

But then he stumbled into their little sanctuary, and slowly pushed the door shut behind him. A second later the light snapped back on again. And for a second she had blink to get the spots out of her eyes and focus again. But then finally she was able to focus, and what she saw . . . was Daryl. He was slumped back against the door.

And he was white as a sheet.

"What is it?" She whispered frantically, staring up into his shell shocked face, "what did you _see_?!"

He blinked, once . . . and again. And it was then that time kind of spread out once more, like it had downstairs. Like a bubble forming around them.

One that was just about to pop.

"It was uh, uh . . ."

He started . . . and then stopped. And then started again.

"I can't believe it." He shook his head, "I just can't God damn believe it. That's the fuckin' craziest shit I've ever seen."

"What?" Carol cut in sharply, "what happened out there, Daryl?"

"The cops," he breathed out, as his eyes started to lose focus, "they just, they shot 'em. They shot all of 'em."

Seeing that Daryl was drifting, stuck on whatever that terrible picture was in his mind, Carol called over to him again. That time trying to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

Though panic was all that she was feeling.

"Daryl, tell me, _please,_ " she pleaded over to him with a calm that she didn't feel, "who did the police shoot?"

His head came up then, and his eyes shot over to hers. They were bright and shiny.

And still drifting.

"The people lyin' in the street, all already bloody and torn to pieces," he whispered back, disbelief clear in his voice, "they were dead. They were dead people, and that's who the police shot." He slumped back then, and slowly slid down to the floor.

"They shot all the dead people . . . shot 'em right in the head."

His last words were barely audible, but with the acoustics, Carol heard him as clearly as if he'd screamed them out. And her jaw dropped as her own head fell back then, and cracked against the cold tile.

Her eyes started to water.

' _Holy shit!'_

* * *

 _A/N 2: To this, I did pull two elements from FearTWD, that I thought had promise. With the opening crackhouse massacre by one of the Walkers, where they sort of implied that the whole thing had something to do with the drugs. They didn't really explore that idea beyond that episode, and I saw it that you could take it as LITERALLY, something bad got into the drugs and then it morphed. Like with Daryl's bad batch theory. Or that a drug den is just a place with a higher mortality rate. Which is how I'm using it here. That things are devolving faster in the big cities, because you have areas like this with homeless and addicts and hookers and gang bangers, all with their own ugly odds on day to day survival. So if the infection is starting to spread (though isn't yet to the 'everyone has it' stage) then you're going to see little mini- massacres popping up more prevalently around the projects, etc. than in 'safer' areas._

 _And to that end, also from Fear, though they didn't make any of them actual characters, it was clear from their actions, and whispers, that the hospital workers and police were picking up much faster that something was really going wrong. Because they'd be in the thick of it and they'd know before anyone else. And the idea of them rolling up on a massacre, and still knowing that they had to walk around and put a bullet in all of those heads, was really creepy to me. It's still technically, civilization. So to do that, in our time, would be the desecration of a corpse. Hence, I also saw them fighting about it because they don't want to accept what's happening either. I think that taboo would be something hard to let go of._

 _Daryl, still a badass, even without the crossbow. All you need is a fist and a throat :)_

 _Again, I kept pushing and pushing to get this one as long as I could because really, it's nineteen pages which could have been like three separate, decent sized, reads :) But I've had this story on constant replay in my head so I've been sketching out scenes in future chapters, while I'm working on present ones, and I know it's going to be LONG! Because there's too much in my head. So the most I can get up in each post, the faster I can clear the pictures!_

 _Side point, as I mentioned on my Tumblr, I found Fresh Blood, by the Eels, to be a great help for me in setting the mood here with these breakouts of violence. It has sort of a harsh 'stabby' beat to it. Good song if you haven't heard it._

 _And I'd love to know if you're enjoying how the pieces are falling together :)_

 _Thanks everyone!_


	4. The Sixth Bullet

**Author's Note** : Hey everybody! We've picked up a few more readers since last time, which is great, welcome all! And thanks everybody for the kind reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy the ride :)

And the last posted chapter here I said was long at nine thousand words, but then I finished this draft and it was, to my surprise, _thirty-two_ thousand words. So, more :) _Ridiculously_ , more. And that would have been days and days of proofing and polishing and I probably still would have had hundreds of typos :) so I chopped it down to what we have here, a much more manageable posting size. But the good news is that we still have a monster chapter (14+ thousand words), and the _better_ news is, we already have another whole plus sized draft already lined up! Wa Hooh! Which means we _might_ have a Christmas posting too! Double wa hooh :)

But to this, picking up still in the bathroom.

* * *

 **The Sixth Bullet**

"Daryl?"

Hearing the tension in Carol's voice as she called over to him, Daryl slowly lifted his head up from his knees.

That was the first word that either of them had spoken in more than a minute. Since he'd finished tellin' her about what he'd seen outside. Of course he hadn't told her all of it. Not yet.

He'd needed that extra minute to try and get his head on straight.

But looking over at Carol now, with the way she was starin' at him with those wide, worried, eyes, he was pretty sure that his minute was done.

"Yeah?" He finally answered while pushing up slightly to straighten his back. And then he saw her jaw tighten just before she swallowed.

Oh yeah . . . he bit down a sigh . . . quiet time was definitely over.

Carol took a breath, trying to calm her racing brain. Of course she'd thought that she'd done that a moment ago, before she'd even tried to reengage Daryl in any conversation . . . but then he'd looked up. And she felt . . . her jaw twitched . . . ensnared.

And inadequate.

Given the tyranny that she'd been living under with Ed, it had been a good thirteen years since she'd been allowed to have actual friends, or to keep in more than casual touch with her extended family. So she'd kind of lost the knack for having real conversations with anyone, men especially. Because with Ed (the only actual adult left in her life), she hadn't had _'conversations._ ' Ed had just _told_ her things. Gave her orders. And she had to follow them.

If she didn't there would have been hell to pay.

But now here she was in a tiny room, filled with tension, and a man who was actually listening to her words. Listening to _her_. She wasn't used to that kind of attention. Because the one thing that she definitely seemed to have at that moment . . . was Daryl's attention.

Which was how she found herself faltering a bit in trying to speak. But when she saw his eyebrow quirk up, as his head tilted, she finally let out that breath she was holding.

 _It's not that hard Carol_ . . . she told herself . . . _he's the only one here besides Sophia. And she's asleep. So just open your damn mouth!_

So she did.

"Do you think maybe," she started slowly, keeping her eyes locked onto his, "that those cops are crazy too? Like," she brought her hand up to nervously rub at her jaw, "like, that batch thing. Could it be something like that? But you know," she bit down on her lip, "bigger."

Just saying the words out loud caused a faint heat to flare on her cheeks, not only for trying to have this 'adult' conversation where somebody actually listened to her thoughts on a topic that mattered, but also because those thoughts, (on this topic that mattered quite a bit), made her sound like a damn crazy person herself! One of those conspiracy nuts or something.

The type that talk to themselves on a park bench.

It was only a moment after she'd finished speaking though, that Carol saw Daryl shaking his head. And he was doing it quite firmly. Like he at least, was sure of what he was saying.

She bit down a sigh.

Well, at least one of them was.

"No," Daryl responded adamantly to Carol's question, "no, those cops were NOT crazy. What they _did_ , was crazy, but they weren't crazy themselves. And they weren't . . ."

Then he paused for a second, his brow wrinklin' as he tried to think of the way to end that sentence. Finally he settled on, "arrogant. They weren't arrogant," but seeing how Carol's nose scrunched up at that, he realized that he needed to explain himself a bit more.

So he leaned forward.

"See," he started again, now rubbing his palms along the rough denim covering his knees, "when I say arrogant, it's that my experience with cops is that they're all cocky sons a bitches. The men and the women both. And I guess maybe," he shrugged, "to do that work you have to be a cocky son of a bitch, or you'll just be a dead cop. I mean yeah," he brought his arms up to cross at his chest, "a lot of them are in it for the power too, and those are your real assholes, but uh," he winced slightly realizing he was getting off track. "Anyway," he gave her look, "my _point_ bein' the main," he tipped his head, " _quality_ , all cops seem to have in common, is that arrogance. Or confidence, if you like that better. They never second guess themselves. Ever. They just charge in and do their thing. But these ones down there now," he shook his head as his breathing started to speed up, "they're not cocky. And they're not confident about what they're doin' . . . they're scared. I know because they were arguing about it before they did it. Cops from two different cruisers goin' toe to toe, with their partners kind of standing back behind 'em, just watchin' the bodies, almost like they thought they were gonna move or something. But they were all dead."

Picturing the scene again in his mind, he winced to try and push it away.

"I'm telling you Carol," he continued on with a clench of his jaw, "it was a God damn massacre down there. So there was no way none of them former people posed a threat to anyone. So anyway," he swallowed, "like I was sayin', the first two cops, the lead ones I guess, at first I couldn't hear what they were sayin' because it was just like," he made a hand gesture, "heated talkin' with both of them pointing towards the bodies and their hands moving. But then the big bald one he started shaking his head and he turned away like he was done, and that was when the little one with the dark ponytail, she got real mad. She grabbed his arm and kind of spun him around and got right in his face, and that's when she started yelling so I could finally hear the words she was saying. She was tellin' him to ball up, and stop acting like it was a discussion. Because they all knew that it had to be done." Daryl's voice faded, "and she wasn't doing it all by herself. Not like last time."

Seeing that Daryl was about to drift off again, Carol quietly prompted.

"And then what happened?"

"Um," his eyes snapped back up to hers, "the big one he stared at her for a second before he finally nodded. And then she seemed to let out a breath before she turned around and walked over and just pulled out her gun and shot one of the bodies. Shot it right in the head. Didn't hesitate. Then as she was moving off to another one, her partner and the other cop, they each took their own body, and fired one bullet into those heads too. And then they all three of 'em kinda looked over at the big guy who hadn't moved yet, and he nodded again, and with that," Daryl bit his lip, "he drew his gun, walked over to the curb, and shot the last one layin' there."

"Oh right," Carol breathed out softly, "there was a gap between the fifth and the sixth shots."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded slowly, "that was the gap. The big guy. And then after he shot that body in the head," Daryl's face twisted in a bit of a grimace, "I think it was a working girl, he just sorta slumped down and crouched there in the street. His head was down and his gun was in his hand still, kinda dangling there. And the lady cop," Daryl's lips pressed together, "she turned around, like she was gonna walk back to the cruiser she came from, but then suddenly she stopped and just threw up on her boots. It's funny, in that ironic way, that she was the one who seemed to be the hard ass, pushin' the big guy, and doin' the first shot, but then she's the one that throws up. But anyway," he shuffled a bit on the floor, "after that happened, her partner looked over at her bent over and then he put his gun away, and walked over to the cruiser that she'd been headin' for. And he leaned into the open door, and pulled out the radio, and," Daryl huffed slightly, "I guess he called it in. Though I think I might give my left nut to know what exactly it is he said."

Once Daryl had finished speaking, quiet settled over the room again. Then Carol bit down on her lip.

"There's something strange going on, huh? I mean," she swallowed, "not just that maybe bad batch thing. Something else." Her voice caught, "something _worse_."

"Yeah," Daryl sighed, "after tonight, I'm thinkin' that there's a whole lotta crap goin' on that nobody's been paying attention to. Because that, clearly, wasn't the first time those four cops had run into a shit storm just like that. And I'm guessin' that it's happened enough times now for them to have that process in place on what to do when they get there, but also," he tipped his head, "based on their _behavior_ , that process is still so new, that they're not comfortable yet with enforcing it. Which," he huffed bitterly, "I can _see_. Because that was some fucked up shit they did!"

 _Shootin' DEAD bodies in the head! How the HELL does that do anything for anyone?!_

"Do you think they would hurt us? You know, if they thought you, we, had seen what they did?"

Hearing another hesitant question coming from Carol, Daryl refocused again.

"Naw." He gave her a grim smile, "if they're throwin' up about shootin' dead people, I seriously doubt they're gonna be looking to hurt any of us live ones. So," he slowly started pushing himself up, with his back pressed on the wall for leverage, "if you want," he cracked his neck, "I think we can get outta here now."

Even as Daryl started to stand up, Carol found herself still staring over at him for a second. But then his eyes bounced back down to hers and she nodded.

"Right," she let out a tight breath, "okay."

And so she went to try and wake up Sophia. But after being dragged all over the city for hours on end and then crying herself back to sleep in the bathtub, her poor baby was dead to the world. So it took a few brushes of her fingers along that downy cheek, and more than a few whispers in that small ear, before her daughter's eyes finally opened.

They were completely unfocused.

"I'm sorry honey," Carol murmured with a kiss to her temple, "but you have to get up for a minute. We're going to go back to bed now."

For a second Sophia just blinked up at her. But then she seemed to remember what it was that had happened, how they'd ended up in the bathroom, and her breath caught, and her eyes got wide again.

And they filled with a fresh batch of tears.

But before Carol had to try and head off that new panic attack that she could see about to burst out . . . it was just too much trauma for one little girl, for one day . . . that's when Daryl stepped in.

Thank God.

"It's okay darlin'," Daryl whispered to Sophia while he walked over to stoop down in front of the tub, "all the bad people are gone. No more screamin' or scary noises. The police are outside now." He cleared his throat, "they're taking care of things."

Boy were they ever. But the point was, they _were_ there, and all the bullets (theirs included) _had_ stopped for the moment . . . so he wasn't lyin'. And seeing Sophia's eyes slowly travel up from the floor, and along his body until they locked up onto his face, Daryl felt another pang.

Like he had before on the elevator.

Because she was too young for this bullshit. And he was sayin' that as somebody who had gone through a lotta stuff when he was young, that he had no business going through either. Growin' up the way that he had . . . it had made a mark.

And he hoped this world wouldn't leave one on her too.

But then he saw her bite down on her lip, as she clutched the doll to her chest . . . so he put his hand out.

And she took it.

A little girl givin' you her hand . . . her trust . . . that was a big thing. And he'd never really thought about it before. But as he took those little fingers in his hand, and he felt her clutch onto him like she was drownin', he felt the weight of that trust pressing down on him.

So he tried to distract them both.

"What's your dolly's name?" He asked while leaning forward a bit, still holding her hand in his.

Carol had her hand on her shoulder.

"Anna Marie," Sophia whispered back as one of those tears trickled down from those watery eyes.

So Daryl nodded, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"That's a pretty name. And I bet Anna Marie's havin' a heck of day. Had to run away from home, then ridin' around in your backpack, traipsin' round the city, stuck out in the dark for hours. Then," he gave her a knowing nod, "she finally got to a place that seemed a little bit safe, and she laid down, and then got ripped out of her nice deep sleep."

Seeing Sophia's little chest begin to heave, as Carol behind her sucked in a breath, Daryl reached out with his free hand to touch the doll.

"But what Anna Marie needs to know is," he continued softly, "is it's all gonna be better tomorrow. Today was just a real bad day." He rolled his eyes, "we all get 'em sometimes. It was not a great day for me either. But when we wake up, we're gonna pack up and go. And we'll all go get some breakfast, and then we're gonna find you and your mama, and _Anna Marie_ ," he patted the doll's chest, "a nice safe place to sleep tomorrow night. Does that all sound good to you?"

"Yeah," Sophia whispered with a nod and a sniffle.

"Good, so," his eyes crinkled slightly then as he gave her fingers a little shake, "think you and Anna Marie are ready to go back to bed now?"

"Uh huh," she sniffled again while reaching up with her free hand to wipe her cheek, "we're ready."

And when she started to push herself up, he let go of the doll, to steady her upper arm.

Carol had her hand on her back.

And between the two of them, they helped Sophia (and Anna Marie) stand up without slippin', and then step over the rim of the tub, and down to the clammy tile floor where Daryl was already standing.

Once Sophia was steady on her feet, Daryl slowly let go of her hand and arm. And as they stood there for a moment, with that little girl scrubbing the tears off her face, Daryl couldn't help but look down at Carol still looking up at them.

Her eyes were watering again.

' _Thank you.'_ She mouthed. But he just shrugged. All he did was help her daughter get out of the bathtub.

Again, it was nothing.

Though he did note that his shrug resulted in an exasperated, good natured, eye roll, from Carol. And he could feel a bit of a smirk forming, when suddenly he saw her amusement turn to a wince and he immediately sobered again.

"You all right?"

"I just realized my legs fell asleep," she responded with a pained grimace, "I think I'm gonna need a second."

Then, seeing how Sophia was looking over at her worriedly now, Carol made sure to pull out a quick, though tight, smile.

"It's okay baby," she reached out to pat her arm, "you go lie down. I'll be along in a minute."

For a second Sophia just stared down, but then finally she gave half a nod of agreement.

"Okay," she whispered.

And she turned, with her doll still clutched to her chest, and started to shuffle along the tile. But seeing that she was a little wobbly in her walkin' . . . she'd also been a bit cramped up in the bathtub . . . Daryl followed along behind her, with his hand hovering at her back, until she reached the door.

And the exit out to the carpeted room.

That was where he stopped, just eyeing that traumatized little girl through the shadows, as she continued along, stumbling and shuffling, yawning into her arm, until she finally climbed up onto the bed again.

That's when he finally turned back around to Carol.

"She made it." Then his eyebrow inched up.

"Can you walk now, or . . .?"

And he stopped, leaving the question open ended.

Feeling like a complete idiot, Carol sighed.

"Not really. I've got pins and needles shooting through both legs, and when I try to move," she attempted to demonstrate by straightening out her left leg, "they cramp up. Oww!"

The last sentence ended on a moan.

The sound made Daryl wince. Still though, he waited to see what Carol wanted to do. Because she was in a bit of a vulnerable position, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable by getting into her space if she didn't want him there. She'd already gone through that a few times that night.

She didn't need it again.

But finally he saw her bite her lip.

"Could you um," she paused, "could you help me," she bit her lip, "please?"

"Yes I can," Daryl murmured as he stepped closer, "I was just waitin' to see if you wanted me to."

So then he was leaning down, and one of his arms was slipping around her back, as she hooked her arm around his neck.

And he started to pull her up.

It wasn't until Daryl started to lift her, that Carol became very 'aware' that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Yes, she'd noticed that before, abstractly. But before, back in the abstract, they were busy not dying, and then talking about people getting shot in the head. But now, those conversations had ceased. And with her just in a cotton tank top and shorts, there was a whole lot of warm, hard, muscle pressing through that thin cloth, and into her side. And that point became a slightly unexpected distraction for her, for just one second.

But then the cramp hit.

"Oh shit," Carol gasped as her eyes immediately started to water, "Charlie horse!"

At that moment her mind was wiped of all thoughts but for how to make that _EXCRUCIATING_ pain, GO AWAY! In fact she wasn't even really aware that her feet, which had just touched the bottom of the bathtub, had gone completely out from under her, until she heard Daryl's faint grunt.

She'd fallen against his chest.

"Okay," she heard him mutter into her hair, "before we both die here, I'm just gonna do this."

And then, before she could do more than try to blink the pain induced tears from her eyes, he'd shifted his hold on her back, slid his other arm under her legs, and scooped her up into his arms. Then he turned around, took three steps . . . and deposited her down on the vanity.

"There," Daryl let out a huff of air as he stepped away, rubbing the back of his wrist, "sorry for the liberty, but you'd just went dead weight there and I didn't have the right hold to keep ya from crackin' your skull open."

That would have been a hell of a scene. Dead woman in the bathtub, little girl in the bed.

Even in _this_ neighborhood, he woulda been arrested!

But then his own concerns were lost, when he saw Carol shooting him a sheepish, half smile, half grimace that made his gut hurt.

Because it was mostly grimace.

"No, no," she murmured, "thanks. I was definitely going to hit the deck." She leaned over then, reaching down with both hands to rub her still spasming thigh, "the muscle's totally seized up."

"Yeah well," Daryl tipped his head, "sitting cramped up in a small porcelain box for almost an hour, with a large child draped down on top of you, will do that."

"Yes," Carol gave a slight huff at his dry tone, while still trying to massage the knot out of her leg, "yes, it will."

Then they both stopped talking. And as Daryl stood there, a bit awkwardly, watching Carol rub her hands up and down her bare thigh as she bit down the occasional moan, he had to make a _GENUINE_ effort, to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Like offering to rub that thigh for her.

And he wasn't really thinking about doing it in a sexual way . . . though that was absolutely how the offer would have come off, because JESUS, how could it _not(?!)_ . . . it was just that it was STUPID, that she was half fallin' off the counter, trying to take care of something on her own, that he could have fixed for her no problem!

The fact that she did actually happen to have some nice, smooth, long legs there, well . . . he scrubbed his hand across his mouth . . . that was just a side point. But not one he was looking to explore. The woman had enough crap on her plate . . . as evidenced by the large black and blue he had just seen on the back of her calf . . . so she didn't need him making her feel uncomfortable thinkin' he was making weird advances. But he knew that he couldn't just keep standin' there like an idiot, because that was gonna make her uncomfortable too. But then a task popped into his head. It was somethin' to do to get him outta the room.

So he blurted it out.

"I need to go check the street again."

Carol's head snapped up in surprise.

"What?" Then she blinked and stammered out an, "uh, oh-okay."

And Daryl realized from both her facial expression . . . startled . . . and her tone . . . confused, and a little nervous . . . that perhaps he hadn't so much 'blurted' out his plans, as 'barked' them at her. Because that was an area where he had a bit of a problem.

Tone.

Sometimes he'd get flustered or confused, and he'd end up yelling at people like he was pissed off at 'em. And okay, yeah, sometimes he was a bit pissed off about being flustered or confused, but mostly he didn't really mean anything nasty by it. It was just habit. When you grow up with two racist, abusive, women hatin' sons a bitches, using a 'delicate' tone, just did not come naturally. Probably if Momma hadn't died when he was so young, and if there had been more women around later on, or specifically more 'classy' women around later on . . . women like Carol, not the strippers and biker chicks his brother brought home . . . he'd probably have worked a little harder on the tone thing. Because he knew it scared people sometimes. People he didn't mean to scare.

And he didn't like that.

Like right now, seeing Carol still starin' at him with that look on her face . . . the wariness there . . . he didn't like that. He didn't like it one bit. So he took a breath, and then he did something that he didn't do very often.

Apologize.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "didn't mean to scare ya." Then he jerked his thumb off to the side, towards the open door.

"Be back in a minute."

Carol watched Daryl turn and step through the bathroom doorway. Her eyes followed him along as he moved over and settled up in the corner where he'd been watching out the window earlier.

It wasn't until he pulled back the curtain though, and his face disappeared, that she finally let out the breath that she'd been holding. Because for just a second, he'd scared her a little bit. Not a lot, and sure as hell nothing like Ed had ever scared her, but just . . . she got a little unsettled. It was that ' _raised voice for no reason'_ thing. That was something that Ed did all the time.

He did it to keep her on her toes.

But when Daryl did it, he'd looked almost as surprised as she was, that his words, (innocent on their own), had come out so harsh. And as his eyes had bounced immediately from her face, to over her shoulder, she'd seen how his expression had softened. There was regret there. And she knew then that he'd felt badly about the tone that he'd used. And then when he looked back at her, he did something that her worthless husband had never done in his life.

Apologized for scaring her.

That meant something. Because the moment that he did it, she'd seen that gentleness in his eyes again. Like she had out in the street when he was trying to help her up off the sidewalk. Of course he'd apologized to her then too, but the situation had been different. He hadn't 'done' anything wrong then. It was just that she'd already been frightened and he'd just moved a little too fast.

This time he had made a mistake and he'd rectified it.

He was being sweet.

So as she watched him standing over by the window, for longer than she expected that he really needed to be there, she had a feeling that he was just trying to keep himself busy. And with her legs feeling a bit better now . . . the numbness and cramping were passing, finally . . . she slowly shimmied herself over to the edge of the countertop, and let her toes dangle over the floor.

Then she pushed herself off the last inch . . . and almost fell flat on her face.

Yeah, it turned out her legs were still a bit rubbery, and that time there was nobody there to catch her from falling. But with a quick grab of the cold porcelain sink, she saved herself from a busted nose. And after a few slow, wobbly, up and down, squats, she felt capable of standing straight, and walking tall, without any fear of tumbling over like a toddler. So she took a breath, and leaned over to pick up Daryl's knife and bag from where he'd dropped them down on the floor.

She figured he wouldn't want to leave either one in the bathroom overnight.

Then she reached out to turn off the light switch before she finally took the first step to take her out into the main room again.

And seeing that Daryl had heard her coming . . . or more likely saw the light go off . . . and was turning around, she held his things out.

"Thought you'd like to keep these with you," she said softly watching him from the glow of the street lights. And his eyes crinkled slightly as he reached out to take them from her.

"Yeah," he nodded, "thanks." Then, with the hand he was holding the knife in, he made a gesture down towards her legs.

"Crampin' gone now?" He asked, in a quiet tone. So she nodded back.

"Yep, it's good."

Of course the words had no sooner left her mouth, than Carol found herself wincing at another twinge in her calf.

Spoke too soon.

"Well," she clarified with a scrunch of her nose, "mostly. But," she flexed her knee back and forth while giving him a little smile, "I'll live."

And Daryl, he looked over at her for a second before the corner of his lip turned up, and he whispered back.

"Good."

But like almost everything else she'd heard him say since they'd met, that one simple word had more than any simple meaning to it. Then he turned back to the window with that little smile still hinting there at the corner of his mouth. And though she knew that it was stupid, Carol felt a hot blush hit her cheeks at his behavior. But once again, it just felt strange having so much of a man's focused attention again.

Especially a man as ' _virile_ ' as Daryl Dixon.

The eyes, and the cheekbones . . . and those muscles. It had been a lot of years, too many years, since a man like that had given Carol even a first glance, let alone a second. Which was why, even when she saw him put his hand out and gesture towards the window with his index finger. . . he wanted her to see what was going on outside too . . . it took her a second to comply with his request. It actually took a quick scrub of her cheeks and a shake of her head, before she felt like her normal self again. Because that man did confuse her a bit.

Even when she was almost positive that he wasn't trying to.

Though when she turned . . . and pulled back her own corner of the shabby curtain . . . all thoughts of Daryl's effect on her unsettled hormones, fled.

"Oh my God," she let out on a horrified whisper as her fingertips pressed down on the warm glass, "look at them all."

The scene out of that window, was worse even than the picture that Daryl had painted in her mind. Because his picture had only actually included the dead people . . . which was of course bad enough all on its own . . . but now that a bit more time had passed, there were more than just dead people out there in the street. There were a lot of live ones.

And so many of them were hurt.

Those were all the bystanders that Daryl had warned her about. The ones that could have been them. The people cut by the flying glass, or nicked by the stray bullets. She could see them down below, stumbling around bleeding, with homemade tourniquets and professionally done bandages, and their hands pressed down on their bloody limbs or their bloody chests . . . her eyes started to water . . . or their bloody heads. And she was so close now, that she could hear through the glass that a lot of them were crying and cursing.

Some of them were screaming.

Fortunately there were a lot of ambulances already there to help them. There was also a fire truck, and probably three or four more police cruisers than what Daryl had told her about. So, with a rough estimate of that one big city block, Carol could see maybe two dozen or so emergency workers rushing around trying to get people triaged . . . and still it wasn't enough.

Not for that many hurt.

And with all those lights, from all those emergency vehicles, the whole block, from one huge cross street to the other, was lit up like mid day. So she could see, _much_ too clearly, right there in the street, heading into the alleyway across from the hotel, all those dead bodies Daryl had told her about. They were circled around now with cones and yellow tape, but they hadn't been covered yet. And if her years of watching crappy television had taught her anything, it was that the police were probably waiting on a medical examiner to come look them over before they could get a sheet thrown on them.

It was weird the stuff you learned from a dumb TV show.

But either way, whatever the reason, with them just laying out there, and everyone else rushing around, for a second, all Carol could see was the blood that was glistening on the pavement. There was so much of it, that the pools from the different bodies, were running together and making these big, horrible, puddles. But also there was something else there besides the blood. Something . . . Carol's stomach began to churn . . . oh God.

"Daryl?" She whispered anxiously, her eyes still locked onto one of the brown'ish white blobs, "what is that on the ground down there with the blood, next to the torsos of those four bodies in the middle? It looks like their bellies have been ripped open or something. Did the bullets do that?"

Daryl dropped his side of the curtain and turned to look over at Carol.

Both of her hands were pressed flat against the glass, almost like she was gonna push it through.

He was a little bit afraid that she might.

"Sometimes bullets can do that," he answered with a soft sigh, "but I don't know if that's what happened there. Just," he reached out to touch her elbow, "that's probably enough now. I only wanted you to see how busy it was down there. That it was safe to go back to bed."

Though thinkin' on it now, it had been stupid to tell her to look. She didn't need to see that shit on the ground. Those brains that had been splattered, and those bodies that had been gutted by bullets or God only knew what. Though he was thinkin' that neither bullets nor God had anything at all to do with it.

He was thinkin' of that growlin' off in the dark.

That didn't matter now though. What mattered, was Carol. And how her breath was coming a bit too fast, and a bit too tight. And she wasn't looking away like he'd told her to.

She was starting to fog up the window.

"Come on," he whispered with a bit more urgency, as he let his fingertips gently run up and down her arm, trying to get her attention, "stop lookin'. It's gonna give you nightmares."

It took a second, but finally Carol pulled herself away from the view down below. And it hurt him to see that when she turned to him, that sheen was covering her eyes again. But then she blinked, and it was gone.

But he'd seen it.

And because he had, he found himself letting his hand slide back down her arm, to catch her fingers.

He gave them a little squeeze before he let go, a bit reluctantly.

"I should be goin," he murmured with a jerk of his thumb towards the door, "again."

"Oh," Carol blinked as she jumped a bit in surprise, "but I just thought . . ."

And she let the rest of the sentence fall away with a shake of her head.

"Never mind."

The last two words came out a whisper. And feeling another one of those tugs in his gut, Daryl looked down at Carol, bitin' on her lip, and then over to the second double bed.

The one that the ladies weren't using.

"Or if you'd prefer it," he started slowly, hoping like hell that he was reading her right, "I could just take that empty bed and finish up the night here."

"Yeah," Carol's head snapped up to look at him with a small, grateful, smile, "that would be okay, if you wanted to do that. I mean," she shrugged, while letting out a faint, forced, huff, "if you were gonna kill us, clearly you've had _ample_ , chance already."

Feeling a faint tickle of amusement, Daryl's mouth twitched a bit at that, though his eyes remained soft. Because he'd heard the nerves behind her words. It was a joke but it wasn't. So he found himself reaching over to pat her arm before he let out a soft sigh.

"I would never hurt you," he murmured, "you or Sophia. You know that, Carol."

"Yeah," she blinked as she gave him a firm nod, "I do know that. I do. It's just weird you know," she gave him a sad smile, "I just met you last night on a dark street, right after I saw you kick in the ribs of a man who was a stranger to both of us. But I feel like I've known you a lot longer than one night. I trust you with my life, and my daughter's. And then there's my husband," her mouth twisted, "Ed. I dated him for six uneventful months, and then we got married, and he's been kicking the hell out of me for almost every day since, of the last thirteen years." She shook her head.

"How does life work that way? How are you supposed to find the right people to trust in a world like _that_ ," her voice caught, as she jerked her thumb towards the window behind them, "if the rules don't make any sense?"

She reached out then to snap on the light, before she walked over and dropped down, with a heavy sigh, onto the edge of the bed she was sharing with her daughter.

Sophia rolled over in her sleep.

"I don't know," Carol finished wearily while looking up and over at Daryl, still standing in front of the window, "it's just a hard thing to reconcile."

For a second Daryl just stood there, thinking about what Carol had said, and the look on her face when she'd said it. Then he took a breath.

"Yeah," he started walking closer, "yeah it is a hard thing to reconcile. And I know a little somethin' about what you're talking about. But I guess really the thing to take is," he stopped in front of her, "the meetin' of good people and bad ones, it's all random." He shrugged, "and if you think on it more than that, you'll really drive yourself crazy."

"Hmph," Carol huffed a bit as a faint, wry smile, touched her lips, "so you don't prescribe to the idea that we all meet the people that we're supposed to meet?"

"Naw," he snorted, "not a chance. Because I've met plenty of people I'd wished I hadn't met, and not once as I was getting my ribs bound up, or my nose reset, have I thought, well, this musta happened for a _good_ reason."

"Yeah," Carol snorted a small laugh, "I've never thought that when I was getting taped up either. So I guess Ed wasn't some karmic justice inflicted on me for sins in a past life." Her laughter fell away.

"He was just a bastard."

And she saw Daryl give her a nod, right before he dropped down onto the bed next to hers.

"Yeah," he fell back with a groan as he dropped his bag to the floor and his knife to the bed, "that's all he is. And if you let him be more than that in your head," he continued softly, "then you're lettin' him be more than he deserves to be."

They were both quiet for a moment, and then Carol heard Daryl swear a soft, "oh shit," muffled against his forearm. She turned her head to see him pushing himself up.

"What's the matter?"

"Forgot I gotta get my stuff," he growled back while reaching out to snatch up his knife from the bedspread.

"Oh," her nose wrinkled, "right."

And seeing him stand up, she rolled over to push herself up too, so she could watch the door while he came and went. But just as she stood up, he put a hand out.

"No," Daryl waved Carol off as he headed over to the dresser, "I'll just take the key. You go on and lay down. It's already," his eyes bounced over to the grimy alarm clock bolted down onto the night stand, "Christ, after four. You need more rest."

"All right," she agreed as her arms came up to wrap around herself. Then she watched while he went over and opened the door . . . he was twirling the key around his pinky finger. Just before he stepped out, she called over to him.

"Be careful."

And he paused, half in, and half out in the hall.

"I'll be fine." He responded with a faint crinkling of his eyes, "you go to sleep."

Her lip quirked up.

"Okay."

Still though, even after he'd closed the door, Carol waited until she heard the click of the key in the lock, before she finally turned around. Then with another sigh, she walked over and turned off the overhead light switch she'd hit a few minutes earlier.

There was one on each side of the room.

And now, once more in the semi-dark, with just the faint glow of the outside street lights to guide her way, she walked back to the first bed, and moved in to lie down and curl herself around her daughter's warm body.

Once she was settled, and sure that Sophia was still sleeping, Carol hooked her finger down to snag the edge of the paper thin top sheet.

She pulled it up over the both of them.

It seemed almost peaceful then. The only sounds being that of her daughter's even breathing, and the faint white noise, of the activity out in the street. Though she knew from having her face pressed against that glass the "white noise," was actually a genuine horror scene. But from where she was now, on the other side of the room, with one ear pressed into a pillow, and the other half covered by the thin muslin, all of that horror was muffled.

It just sounded like normal street noise.

If you didn't really know what was going on out there, that is.

And she didn't want to know. She wanted to forget for a little while. So as she lay there in the dark with her eyes closed, Carol told herself that the muffled noise wasn't what it really was. That it was just normal, Friday night city sounds.

Nothing to be worried about at all.

And she kept telling herself that, while breathing slowly in and out, as she listened to her daughter's quiet respirations. In her head, she was also counting away the seconds just as she had been since that door had been pulled shut. She was trying to calculate when exactly he would be coming back.

How much longer he would be.

Then, finally . . . around the two hundred and fortieth second . . . she heard the key scraping in the lock. And then the door opening, and his quiet exhale when he stepped inside the room.

Probably letting his eyes adjust to the dark, she told herself.

Because then he was moving again. The key scraped out, the door shut . . . then the locks and tumblers were twisting, and the chain jangling.

The chair scraped across the floor.

And there in the dark, with the door now barricaded, and their protector back inside, Carol felt the tension falling away. Then she heard Daryl's quiet whisper.

"G'night Carol."

And her eyes crinkled . . . of course he knew that she was still awake. She rolled over, and let out a soft breath.

"Good night."

/*/*/*/*

"I know you are honey, but we have to wait. We'll ask him, when he wakes up."

The words came in a faint, feminine, whisper, but given that Daryl was just on the verge of openin' his eyes, he heard them come through to his brain, clear as day. And figurin' from the limited number of people in the tiny hotel room he fell asleep in, that the 'him' in question, was _'him'_ personally, he yawned out an, "I'm awake." Then he brought one arm up to block the sun from hitting his slowly opening eyes.

With those shitty curtains it was broad daylight in there.

"What's up?" He groaned.

"Oh," Carol winced as she looked over at Daryl slowly sitting up as he blinked in the morning sun, "I'm sorry. We were trying to be quiet."

"Naw," he brought the back of his arm from his eyes, and down to his mouth to cover a second yawn, "s'okay." Then he blinked again to focus in on the woman standing in the middle of the room.

Sophia was hiding just behind her.

They were both still wearing their pajamas, though looking at Carol's face, it seemed likely she'd been awake a little bit longer than him. For one thing, her eyes were open. His were still feelin' . . . he blinked and bought both of his hands up to rub them . . . a bit droopy.

Though a few seconds later, when he looked over at Carol again, he saw that both she and Sophia were still just standin' there staring at him.

It was startin' to make him feel a little weird.

"What?" He grunted out suspiciously as his hands fell down to the bed. And Carol quickly shook her head.

"Nothing. It's just," she brought her arm up to make a general pointing motion towards his head, "you're hair's sticking up a little bit."

It was actually sticking up a LOT, all right there in the back. He looked like Alfalfa. And it was kind of funny . . . and sweet . . . seeing him with that nerdy hairstyle, given what a tough guy he was.

"Oh yeah," Daryl's hand immediately shot up to smooth over the top of his head, "it's been doin' that lately." Then he continued on a grumble. "Got it cut too short, but I'll wet it in a minute and it'll go down again. Anyway," he dropped his hand back to the bed and jerked his chin in her direction, "what were you two talkin' about a minute ago?" Then he prompted her with a quick glance at the time . . . nine-forty . . . and back to her pretty face again.

"I assume it wasn't about my hair. What'd you wanna ask?"

"Oh um," Carol bit her lip as one hand settled in on her daughter's shoulder . . . she no longer seemed to be afraid of Daryl at all, just a little shy, "it was just about the iced tea. Sophia was wondering if there was any left, and if there was," Carol looked over hopefully, "could she please have a sip? She's thirsty and she said the bathroom water tastes kind of . . ."

"Gross," Sophia cut in softly from behind her mother's back.

Daryl huffed.

"Gross huh," the corner of his lip quirked up in a sleepy smile, "well, that's a helpful fact to know. But yeah darlin'," he pointed over to the dresser where his bag was sitting, "there's still that half bottle left. You can get it."

After shooting her usual quick 'permission glance' up to her mother, who of course nodded her assent, Sophia darted over to get the bag.

And she looked so serious when she started digging down inside, that Daryl couldn't help but tease her about it.

"But don't steal my money," he added gruffly.

And her eyes shot up to his in shock.

"I, I wouldn't," she stammered out with a firm headshake, "I wouldn't steal your money."

"Okay then," his lip quirked up as he gave her a firm nod, "carry on."

For a second she just looked over at him like he'd lost his mind, but then she seemed to realize that he was just teasin' her. And he could see a bit of faint color touch her cheeks as a bashful smile pulled at her lips. And Daryl was sort of ridiculously proud of himself for that smile. Because it wasn't like the ones she gave him last night. Those were sad.

This one was happy.

And when he looked up and over at Carol, he could see a similar smile on her face.

Though without the blush.

Their eyes made contact for a moment before she gave him a little nod and her attention shifted back to her daughter now working to unscrew the little metal cap.

It was clear she was having trouble.

"Need help, honey?" She asked, while starting to take a step forward. But Sophia quickly shook her head.

"No Mama," she winced and tried to turn it again, "I can do it."

But after giving it another full thirty seconds of her daughter twisting and groaning, where the cap still didn't seem to be going anywhere, Carol was thinking that maybe she couldn't do it. So she started to open her mouth again. But then she heard Daryl clear his throat. And she looked over to see him shaking his head.

' _She can get it.'_

The words were just mouthed, not spoken aloud, and then before she could respond, his gaze had snapped back over to her daughter and the glass bottle. So Carol bit down her 'mom sigh' and turned back to Sophia herself . . . that's when she saw that the cap was there in her small hand.

And there was a proudly satisfied little smile on her face.

"See Mama," Sophia looked up at her mother with bright, happy, eyes, "I did it."

Carol's eyes crinkled.

"You sure did honey," she said while taking a step back to sit down on the edge of the bed, "good job. You're getting strong."

And as her daughter brought the bottle up to her mouth, Carol began to see that Daryl had been right to tell her to wait. She was used to doing everything for her, not only just in trying to protect her from her father, but just because she was her baby. But her baby wasn't quite so little anymore.

She'd turned ten in March.

And Carol had been worrying herself about her daughter's lack of confidence, so clearly these were the types of little battles to let her wage. The ones where the spoils were small, and the punishments weren't harsh. Because Carol could see, even a minor battle like this one had meant something to her.

She'd remember that in the future.

After watching Sophia take one tiny sip, which Daryl knew wasn't nearly enough liquid to keep her going after barely any food or drink for over a day, he shook his head. Then as she started to put the cap back on the bottle, he called over.

"You can have more than that, Sophia."

When she looked up at him, with her eyes wide like, _'you sure?_ ' he nodded, "it's all right. Then give it to your mama so she can have some too. I'll take the leftovers."

"Oh no," Carol quickly came back with a shake of her head, "I'm fine. You guys can have the tea."

"Really," his eyes darted up to hers as he asked drolly, "did you want to drink the gross bathroom water?"

For a second Carol just stared over at him, and then her nose wrinkled.

"Well," she sighed, "no, not really. Sophia said it tasted like pennies that fell in the toilet."

"Wow," Daryl snorted, "that's pretty gross. And I think we could all do without startin' the day with penny flavored toilet water. So just drink the damn tea, woman. And now if you'll excuse me," he pushed himself up with a roll of his neck, "I gotta run to the bathroom real quick."

And he started across the room. It was just as he got to the bathroom door, that he heard Carol call out a hesitant, "thank you," and he stopped to roll his eyes.

She just wouldn't _quit_ , with the thank yous!

"Yeah, yeah," he growled back, "just save me a sip."

And he continued on in to do his business.

It was just after the door slammed shut, that Carol looked over at her daughter now sitting next to her on the bed.

"He's kind of grumpy huh?" she said with a little smile. And Sophia nodded, though Carol could see a bit of amusement on her face.

"Yeah," she answered softly while bringing the bottle down to her leg, "but he's nice too."

Feeling a bit of warmth spark in her eyes, Carol nodded back.

"Yeah," she reached over to tousle her daughter's hair, "he is nice." Her hand fell back, "We were _very_ lucky to have run into him last night. He's been good to us."

"Guess we won't see him after today though, huh?" Sophia asked. And Carol felt a bit of a stab in her gut at the sadness she could hear there. That her daughter, for the first time in her life, had met a man who was kind to her, and who had protected her . . . and now he was going to go away. It was a taste of a life that she'd never had before.

A taste of a life that Carol wished she could give her.

"No honey," she bit her lip as Sophia passed her the bottle, "probably not. But that's just how things are sometimes. People pop in and out of your life really quickly. And you just have to be grateful that you knew them for the little while that you did. Does that make sense?"

"I guess," she whispered back. Then she blinked and looked up.

"Can I watch cartoons?"

Carol's eyes crinkled.

"Sure baby," she pointed over to the dresser, "remote's up there. Just keep it down low, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," her daughter murmured back.

So Sophia got up to turn on the television, and Carol took her small drink of the sweet tea. It was warm, but it still tasted delicious. Probably because she was so thirsty . . . she wiped her forearm across her forehead . . . and so damn hot. Because the higher the sun went in the sky, the warmer their poorly air conditioned little hotel room, was becoming.

They really needed to get moving as soon as possible.

It was just then that the bathroom door opened, and Carol saw Daryl step back into the main room with a slightly wet head and much flatter hair. Before he came back over to the beds though, he paused to look out the window.

"Still quiet, right?" She asked softly. And she saw him nod.

"Yeah," he murmured back, "if you didn't know what had happened, you wouldn't know anything had happened at all."

The bodies, and their parts, had all been cleaned up. And the street had clearly been hosed down, because he couldn't even see any stains left on the asphalt. At least not from their height. Really, the only obvious remnant of last night's violence, at least that Daryl could see, was a small yellow stream of broken police tape tied to a light pole.

It was fluttering in the breeze.

He turned around.

"Is there a phone book in that nightstand?" He asked Carol as he started to walk across the room, "I need to find a tow truck."

Before he'd even finished asking the question, he saw her slide over on the bed, and stretch her arm out to hook her fingertips under the handle of the drawer.

It slid open with a squeak.

"Yeah," she reached inside, and pulled out a big fat book with a glossy image of Atlanta at night, emblazoned over the outer binding, "looks like a full city one."

Hearing Daryl step up behind her, Carol passed the phone book over her shoulder before digging back down into the drawer again.

"There's a pen here too," she muttered, "you want that?"

"Yeah," he put his hand out, "thanks."

Then he pulled his legs up, and shuffled back a bit on the bed so he could sit Indian style with the book open on his lap.

For a few seconds Carol just sat there watching him flip through the pages, until he finally reached the section that he wanted.

Then he started running his finger down through the ads.

There was a faint scowl on his face.

"What's wrong?" She asked with a lightly quirked eyebrow. And he looked up at her with a purse to his lips.

"Just tryin' to figure out which one to try first. I mean," he huffed, "it's not like I know at a glance which places are fairly close by, and which ones are thirty miles away."

That was the main problem with the city of Atlanta . . . it was too fuckin' big.

"Um," Carol started chewing on her lip, listening to the muted sound of an animated sponge talking in the background, as she tried to think of a solution to Daryl's dilemma. Then a thought popped into her head.

"Oh," she leaned forward, reaching out to cross the gap between the two beds, "look in the back." She tapped the page, "you know sometimes they have like a map insert in there. Maybe you can get a better read on the neighborhoods that way."

Seeing Daryl nod and mutter, "good thinkin'," as he put one finger down to hold his place, while he quickly fluttered the pages to open the back binding. And there, just as she'd thought there might be, Carol saw a shiny colored insert.

"You are a smart cookie," Daryl huffed with a grin as he yanked it out. And she just sat back with a little huff.

"I'm just old," she chuckled, "because you know phone books are how we had to look up _everything_ before computers came along."

Daryl's eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he looked her up and down, before his attention dropped back to the map in his hand.

"Hmph," he murmured to himself, and Carol looked over in surprise.

"What?" She asked, with a bit of a self-conscious fidget, wondering if he was considering exactly how _old_ she really was. Because it was clear from the look he gave her, that sharp appraisal, that he was thinking something.

But then she heard him answer, "nothin'," with a disinterested shrug, right before he tapped the oversized book his lap.

"Maybe you can help me with this. If you read off the locations of the mechanic shops, I'll mark them on the map, until I find one in the general vicinity."

"Oh sure," she agreed with a quick nod while shuffling forward on the mattress and putting her hands out.

Once Daryl handed off the phone book, and had taken a quick swig of the remaining iced tea, he again picked up the half dried up pen she'd found in the back of the drawer . . . "remind me to wash my hands soon as we finish," was the disgusted mutter as he did so . . . and they began their little back and forth.

It went along pretty smoothly.

After she'd read off a street name and a block number, he'd pinpoint it on the map, and mutter a, "got it," as he made an X down on the location and she made a check mark next to the phone book listing. They went through five rounds of that, before Daryl made an X that was (as he estimated) within two zip codes of where he'd left his truck the night before. His theory was, as he'd explained it to Carol, that he wasn't going to find a tow driver any further than three zip codes out, who would be willing to drive that far into, quote, "the ghetto."

Even if it was broad daylight.

And really, Carol couldn't fault him on his logic. Though she did point out that maybe they should find one or two more numbers now, while they were in the mode, just in case the first guy wasn't open. He'd agreed. So they ran through seven more addresses, and he made note of three more maybes.

Now they had four numbers . . . Daryl figured that would be a plenty long enough list to start.

So he began making his calls. And sure enough, Carol found herself wincing when she heard him slam down the phone after the first number he tried.

They were closed due to illness.

He moved on to number two, only to get a recording saying that they didn't open until noon on Saturdays. It was only 9:55 a.m., so again . . . the receiver was slammed down. With number three, somebody _did_ answer (which was great), and they _did_ cover the area in question (better still) but then the operator went on to tell Daryl that the actual tow _driver_ was out sick with the flu, and they'd maybe have a replacement driver available for a pick-up on Monday at ten.

Was that too late?

The phone almost went across the room that time. Daryl was actually SO mad at that guy (who Carol agreed really was a complete jackass not to just open with, "we _can't_ help you!"), that he stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and cussed up a VERY creative blue streak, that Carol (and a giggling Sophia), could still hear even through the closed door and the running shower water. But Carol gave him full points for the effort. He was trying very hard to be good and not curse in front of her daughter.

It wasn't his fault the walls were so thin.

So when he stomped back out of the bathroom, grunting and shaking his head, Carol didn't give him a hairy eyeball for the swearing. She just gave him a soft smile.

"I found two more numbers while you in there," she said as he walked over to flop down next to her on the bed she was sitting on.

There was still a definite scowl on his face.

"Both of them are also within your two zip code window," she continued calmly, while pulling up her knee so she could see him laying there next to her, staring up at the ceiling, "so I'm sure that one of these last three will work out. And if not," she shrugged, "it's a big book. We'll find somebody."

For a second he didn't respond. He just stayed still there, with his eyes locked up onto the water stained plaster above them. But then finally she saw his lips twitch right before he snorted, and with a heavy exhale, rolled himself over and slid down, so he was sitting up next to her with his feet on the carpet.

"You know, I'm _tryin_ ' to be pissed off over here," he muttered, now in mock anger, and she had to bite down a chuckle.

"I know," she reached over to pat his arm consolingly, "and I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to get pissed off at many other people today. But for now," she passed him back the phone book with the other numbers that she'd circled, "I think we're on a workable path here to resolve the tow issue."

To that, she got a vague grunt, but he did take the book back again.

And then from her spot next to him, Carol tucked her hands down into the rumpled sheets and crossed the fingers on both of those hands, that Daryl was going to hit pay dirt with call number four. Because she wasn't sure how long she could 'handle' him, into not being cranky.

Especially with the room heating up the way it was.

Because it wasn't even ten o'clock yet, and that stuffy room was starting to bear down. She was actually breaking a real sweat just sitting there. To that end, cooling down, before he dialed the next number, Daryl leaned around her to pick up the nearly empty iced tea bottle off the floor. Carol figured that he was going to take the last sip he'd been saving.

It was his after all.

But instead he just leaned over and tapped Sophia on the shoulder with the bottom of the glass. When she turned around in the desk chair she was sitting in to watch her cartoons, he passed the last sip off to her.

In thanks, she gave him a little smile, and Daryl shot her a quick wink that seriously made Carol want to (for the BRIEFEST of brief seconds) smack a hard kiss on the man. Not just for being nice to her daughter, but because he really was adorable when he was being sweet.

Especially when he was still being all pissy at the same time.

Yeah . . . she huffed to herself as he went to pick up the receiver again . . . Mr. Dixon was a complicated soul, that was for sure.

Fortunately though, her brief flicker of inappropriate attraction was doused, when Daryl started dialing the next number. Because he'd decided to start off with one of HER numbers. That would be one of the two she'd found while he was in the bathroom. So now ALL of her mental thought processes were on sending a prayer to God, that this would be the magical tow truck number!

And then she waited, listening to him next to her, breath slow and heavy as the line rang in his ear . . . she could hear it through the receiver. Then on ring number four, somebody finally picked up . . . and Daryl started his spiel again. That time though, he was cut off right after he gave the truck's street address with a, "we can send somebody right out," and a slow smile spread across Carol's face, as she saw the same look of relief on Daryl's.

"Great," he bit down on his lip, "thank you very much."

Then they did a little bit of back and forth on the price and the make and model and license plate of the truck, and then there was a pause on Daryl's side and Carol tried to listen in again, but that time the man wasn't speaking loudly enough for to hear him. But whatever he said, made Daryl's brow darken briefly before the little wrinkle unfurled, and he turned to look over at her while simultaneously nodding at whatever the thing was that the man was saying to him.

"I understand," he said quietly, still looking into her eyes, "so one pm, and I'll call at noon to confirm it's ready to go. All right . . . yes sir. Thank you."

And he hung up.

And feeling a bit of a lead balloon in her gut, Carol bit down on her lip.

"So it'll be ready to go at one," she stated softly, trying to hide the bitter disappointment in her tone, "that's quick."

It was MUCH too quick! Because if the truck was ready for pick up at one, then that meant that he'd be leaving them then and going home.

They had less than three hours left.

Or at least it seemed that way. But then she saw Daryl slowly shaking his head.

"Naw," his jaw twitched, "they don't have the tires in stock. They're gonna pick 'em up this afternoon from a place outside the city, put 'em on in the morning. It'll be ready for tomorrow at one."

"Oh," Carol's eyes widened in shock, "so you're staying in Atlanta another night?"

"Yep," he huffed out a breath, "looks like it. Though not in this place," he grunted with a disdainful look around the room, "definitely gotta find a new hotel. Preferably one with real air conditioning and no hookers." Then he saw that Sophia had twisted around in her chair, and was looking back at them. So he tipped his head.

"Sorry," he corrected, "I mean, workin' ladies."

Sophia's brow scrunched up.

"What do the ladies work at?" She asked him then, with all the ten year old innocence that he'd unfortunately never had.

Not sharing a room with Merle.

But fast as can be, he flashed a quick smile . . . and lied through his teeth.

"They do people's taxes." He shot back immediately, because the only way to lie convincingly was not to hesitate, "they go door to door." He looked over at Carol, "right Mama."

And Carol's eyes crinkled as she gave first Daryl, and then Sophia, the same soft smile.

"That's right. They do taxes. Now honey," Carol reached over and patted Sophia's shoulder, "why don't you get your bag, and go in the bathroom and wash up, change your clothes. We'll be leaving soon."

"'K, Mama," Sophia murmured as she passed the remote over her shoulder, "I don't know how to turn it off. I got it turned it on by accident."

The remote slipped into Carol's hands, but she immediately passed it over to Daryl.

"I can't even do the cable remote at home," she muttered while reaching over for the phonebook in his lap, "and besides," she sighed, "now I need to find us a place to stay tonight."

It would be so much less stress if they could just stay with Daryl for another night, especially now that he had to stay anyway. That was what she wanted more than anything. But it wasn't a request that she could make of him. That he keep them on as a physical and financial, burden, for any longer than he already had.

Especially when he'd already been so much better to them, than she ever could have imagined.

Besides that though, staying with Daryl clearly wasn't a long term solution to their, _'fleeing from Ed/starting a new life'_ dilemma. Because no matter what, Daryl was still leaving the city tomorrow.

And she and Sophia still needed to get on with getting on, all by themselves.

So as Daryl began to fuss with the TV's buttons . . . he seemed about as remote control inclined as she was . . . Carol started flipping along until she found the section of the phone book on women's shelters. Unlike with the mechanic shops though, these listings didn't take up two full pages.

There was just the one quarter page column.

No ads.

And seeing how few options she really had available to her, even in such a big city, Carol felt her eyes start to burn.

"Shit."

The word came out as barely a whisper. But then Daryl pressed the Mute button on the television.

A second later, she felt his hand move up to squeeze her shoulder.

"It'll be all right," he murmured, "you'll find a good one. And if it's not a good one when we get there, we'll just find another one."

"But Daryl," she turned to him then, unable to hide the tears in her eyes as she punched her finger down on the page, "look at how few options there are! It took us like _eleven_ numbers just to find you a TOW truck! What if nobody will take us in?!" Her voice cracked. "What if we end up on the _street_?!"

It was only a second after the first tear trickled down her cheek, that Daryl reached over and wiped it away. Then she felt his fingers pressing lightly against her jaw, and he was turning her head so that she was looking up at him.

Another tear spilled over.

"It won't be like that," he whispered while reaching out to wipe that second tear away too, "because I won't let it be like that. If we can't find somebody to take you, then I'll just get you another room tonight. Then tomorrow, if there are still no openings round here, I'll have my truck back. And we'll just look somewhere else. There's lots a cities around that'll have ladies shelters. Marietta's not far. Neither's Fayetteville, or even Athens. After everything that we went through last night, I'm not just gonna dump you two out here by yourselves in the middle of Atlanta, and go on my merry way. Before I go home, I'll find you some place good, and safe, to stay," his hand slipped down to cup her cheek, "I promise."

He finished the last with a firm nod. And Carol found herself feeling a slight bit of that vice around her chest, lessening a bit. Because she hadn't expected that. That he would stick with them until they had real plans setup. Yeah, she'd known that he wouldn't just drop them off under an overpass, but just getting her lined up with ANY bed at all to cover them for the first night, was all that she'd really expected he might be able to do for them, before he just had to get on with his life.

She had not expected him to _pause_ his life, to help get hers straightened out!

And she found herself sniffling as she tried to give him a smile.

It kind of fell short.

"That means a lot, Daryl," she sucked in a ragged breath as another tear fell down, "thank you. Because since we got turned away from that first shelter, I've been really," she winced and shook her head, " _terrified_ , about what was going to happen to us."

Her eyes darted towards the closed bathroom door.

"But I didn't want Sophia to see. Because she would just think I was terrible dragging her out of her home, and having no plan at all." She sniffled again as another tear slipped over, "except to get us killed I guess."

For a moment Daryl didn't say anything, but as she looked up at him, looking down at her, she saw sympathy in his eyes.

And more than a little sadness.

But finally his mouth twisted a bit, and he gave her a faint smile.

"Don't be so hard on yourself Carol. You're tryin' and she can see that. Just because your first plan didn't go the way you thought it would, well," he shrugged and looked around the room, "this wasn't my first plan either."

She snorted, and seeing his eyes crinkle . . . she started to laugh.

"No," she choked down a hiccup as his hand fell down from her cheek, "I'm pretty sure you never in a MILLION years imagined your weekend going like this! With us."

Daryl's lip quirked up.

"You can say that again, but," he reached over to pick up his shirt from the back of the desk chair, "we're getting along all right. All things considered."

And then he turned back around, and before she knew what was happening, he'd started to wipe away the rest of her tears . . . with the hem of his shirt. And though she wanted to protest that he didn't need to do that, there really wasn't anything else in the room to wipe her face with. Nothing clean anyway.

Not unless she kept scrubbing at her skin with her closed fists.

Of course then her eyes would just swell shut.

After a moment of expanding silence, Darryl murmured drily, as he patted his way along her cheek,"this is one of my favorite shirts so don't blow your nose in it." She snorted out a giggle.

"Okay."

Their eyes locked for a second, and he gave her a wink, before he went back to doing what he was doing.

It was just a few seconds later though, that he pulled the now slightly damp, light blue cloth, away from her face.

"There," his gaze shifted around her face before he reached over, and wiped his thumb along her jawbone to catch one last, stray, droplet, "now Sophia won't see you been cryin'. You can just wash up when you go in to get dressed. But first," he dropped the shirt down on the bed with one hand, and tapped his finger down on the shelter listings with his other, "you start makin' calls. You got ten names there."

"Nine," she cut in quietly, "don't forget one of them already turned us away."

"Okay then," he continued, undaunted, with another finger tap, "nine. That's still nine maybes until you get another no. So you get dialin', because I can't do this one for ya. They'll just think I'm some kind of creep tryin' to track somebody down."

"Hmph," Carol sniffed a bit in agreement as she reached over for the phone he was passing over, "yeah, like Ed's probably doing right now. Oh God," she bit her lip, "I hope he's not hanging out at any of these places, waiting to see if we show up."

"Fuck Ed," Daryl muttered back dismissively as he ran his finger down the page, "if he turns up anywhere we go, I'll take care of him. And then he won't be capable of ever botherin' you again."

There was a moment of stunned silence, as Carol just blinked and gnawed nervously down on her lip.

"You wouldn't kill him though, right?" She finally asked with a worried eyebrow. "Because I don't care if he's dead, but there could be a lot of trouble that came out of something like that."

She'd actually welcome Ed's death . . . they would finally be free . . . but she just wouldn't want there to be any repercussions to anyone else if it happened. Especially repercussions for anyone who was starting to matter to her.

Like Daryl.

But then she saw his lips twist in a cold smile, and she had a feeling that her worries about something happening to him in the legal sense, were probably unfounded.

He could take of himself.

"Carol," Daryl whispered back, "there's a lotta accidents that can happen to a man durin' a fight, that are a hell of a lot worse than death. And if you wanted, I could see that he had one of those accidents." He shrugged, "and that's all it would be. But you wouldn't have to worry anymore."

Carol slowly exhaled.

"And you would do that for me? For nothing?"

There was no real inquisitiveness in her tone, because it was clear from his offer, that Daryl would indeed do that for her.

She just couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

But then she saw him give her a sad smile, just before he reached over to pick up her hand again. He squeezed her fingers.

"I would do it," he said softly, "because I like you. And I like Sophia. And there are too many Eds in the world. My momma had one too," his voice faded, "but his name was Buck."

Feeling those hot tears start to prick at her eyes again, though this time for a totally different reason . . . Carol blinked. Because now she was again picturing Daryl with his shirt off. And how he'd had some marks on his back and chest that she hadn't thought too much about at the time. Because he was a tough guy, and tough guys had scars. But now she was picturing a little guy, a little Daryl, getting beaten by his Daddy.

And that image made her want to weep.

And though she figured that this wasn't something that he'd want to talk about in anymore detail than the passing reference that he'd made, she couldn't stop herself from asking the one question that was breaking her heart.

"Did your momma get away from Buck?"

The words were barely a whisper, but she knew that he heard her. And it took a second, and she wasn't even really sure if he was going to answer at all, but then she saw Daryl scowl a bit right before his jaw clenched.

That was her answer, as complete a one as she was going to get. But it wasn't her business to know more than that. He'd only shared what he had just so she'd know why he was helping her, and not expecting anything from her in return. Because there weren't a lot of men like that left in the world.

Ones who did things just on the principle.

Clearly Daryl was one of them.

And as thanks for that, and in sympathy for those scars that were hidden away now under his t-shirt, she reached over and patted his chest.

"I better get dialing," she murmured, trying to keep her tone light, as her hand fell back to her lap, "so we can go get that breakfast you mentioned."

It was time to move on.

"Yeah," Daryl cleared his throat, "I am starvin'. Need some coffee too." Then his eyes drifted towards the still closed bathroom door.

"You think she fell in?"

And Carol chuckled, feeling the rest of the tension break from the moment.

"Sometimes she starts talking to herself in the mirror." She answered softly as she started dialing the first number, "it's like puberty is on the verge, and the first step is this funny little self-infatuation. She makes faces, and sometimes she fusses around with my makeup. Right now she doesn't have any makeup in there though, because I didn't pack any. So she's probably just making the faces."

"Is that right?" Daryl started to laugh and immediately brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, trying to smother it, "that's pretty funny."

"Yeah," Carol nodded slowly as the phone began to ring in her ear, "it is."

And then she heard the line pick up, and a woman named Diane asked how she could be of assistance.

 _Where to begin?_

"Hi, um," Carol took a breath, "I was wondering if you people might have a bed available tonight for me and my daughter. We could share. We're uh," her free hand slowly balled up into a fist, "we're trying to get away from my husband."

The woman on the other end of the line, _Diane_ , her brain corrected, asked her to hold on, and Carol could hear the faint whisper of the woman's breathing, and the tapping of keys on a keyboard. Finally she came back again.

"Are you in imminent danger?"

Carol bit her lip.

"Well, not imminent, no. We're out of the house. We're," her gaze shifted over to see Daryl's thigh pressed up against hers, "we're safe right now. But we don't have anywhere to stay tonight. Or going forward, really."

There was another pause, and some more tapping.

"All right ma'am," Diane came back in her heavy drawl, "um, unfortunately it looks like we're goin' to be over capacity for tonight. A lot of the other shelters are restricting new arrivals because of this flu outbreak, and we've been gettin' the overflow. We might have some beds open up next week, but I'm sorry, there's definitely nothin' for this weekend."

Feeling her stomach twist, Carol bit down on her lip.

"Oh," she exhaled, "I see. Well, do you have any suggestions on what we could do?"

"Yep," Diane immediately came back, this time with simultaneous tapping in the background, "I'm goin' to give you some other numbers, sweetheart. Like I said, some of them are likely going to tell you that they aren't takin' new arrivals, but," she huffed, "never hurts to ask in case they change their minds. When you call, you be sure to tell 'em you have a little girl. That might make a difference. So you got a pen?"

"Um," Carol tapped Daryl's arm and pointed to the pen he'd dropped onto the bed.

He handed it over, and Carol shifted the phone book around to get a clean spot.

"Yeah," she took another breath as she felt Daryl's hand fall down on her shoulder, "yeah, I'm ready."

So Diane started reading off her listings, "all right then, Spring House, 678-512 . . ." And Carol said a prayer.

And then she started writing.

* * *

 _A/N 2: If you caught those little side notes to the "flu" again and how the tow truck driver was out, and that it's starting to impact even the shelters. Which I thought was plausible if they had something that was spreading with a high contagion factor. They'd try and be responsible and limit exposure given it's a confined living space. But it's just one more piece of the background with the infection spreading and nobody thinking much of it._

 _I debated as to whether Daryl would hint around his family situation so soon, but short of him just being a LITERAL saint, some reasoning had to be given as to why he would be vested in really helping them for no reason at all. So I thought a passing glance at where he was coming from, would cover his motivation more realistically because otherwise, if you were Carol, you'd have to be thinking, "this guy's been super nice, but he's way too good to be true!" And given she had her little mini breakdown first (because how freaking terrifying would her situation really be, even without what's coming?!), I thought it fit with the moment. But he's not going to be all like, "and then when I was FOUR, my daddy . . . ." That's not happening :) That jaw clench is about as much as detail as she's getting for awhile._

 _As I'm moving forward here, there is a teeter totter on the level of intimacy that I'm trying to build into their relationship. Basically we're building towards, "a lot." But because it's not coming from a sexual relationship, which is generally how people most associate the term "intimacy," it is a little different without them having the years together on the show. But here they have already been "thrust" (no innuendo intended) into a stressful, dangerous situation which has caused them to bond and share a bit of their lives, in ways that they wouldn't if they just ran into each under normal circumstances. But from meeting one where she had to tell him that her husband beats her (something she clearly would have never shared normally) the basic rules of interaction were thrown out the window. And beyond that of course, they're finding an unusual level of comfort with one another. I did think it would be unrealistic for her to not "notice" his bare chest being pressed against her, or for him to not get a bit distracted by her rubbing her thigh. It would have been weird if the thoughts didn't at least flutter through. So thematically, I guess we can say I'm settling on there being an attraction (and occasional awareness) between them, but the sweetness of their relationship will be more prominent than any physical element. For a while :) Plus with Sophia there they are a becoming a default parental unit, and that's just fun by itself._

 _And just a note on Daryl in particular, given how we know he has a soft spot for kids, and that he immediately took to Judith so openly and guilelessly, here, I thought Sophia would be the fastest way to break him down into more "Cuddly Daryl." Within limits :) He's still swearing and getting pissed off about little things. But the more Carol sees how good he is with her daughter, the more taken SHE is with him too. So it kind of accelerates their personal bonding on all levels. I don't think Living Sophia is super popular in the fandom :) but I really think, without Sophia as a catalyst, the story I want to tell here, just wouldn't work. It would be much harder (for me) to pair them off so quickly without the pseudo family thing. I do, already (God help me) have an idea for ANOTHER Caryl story, a TOTAL AU that has started running through my brain, but I refuse to write a line until I get AT LEAST halfway through this one. Which I suppose would be around the quarry stage. So when I start writing the quarry, maybe, a second story will go up then too. Maybe :)_

 _So anyway, long ass note! Sorry! Ha, ha! Hope you liked the chapter though. Again, I might post on Christmas with a shorter chapter of what I already have drafted for the next scenes here. Depends on how smoothly my cookie baking goes this week :)_

 _Thanks everyone!_


	5. Random Acts

**Author's Note:** Merry Post Christmas, Pre Happy New Year! :)

Thanks once again for all the tremendous support here!

Side note: I remembered (at least I'm pretty sure) that Sophia got her canon doll when she was leaving the quarry, so I've decided that the doll she has here was one she'd taken from home. I'm making it a rag doll, from the Holly Hobby line. If you don't know those, and you're curious, I put up a picture on my Tumblr, with the chapter post.

To this, again picking up in the hotel room. I promise we'll leave it before the end of the chapter :)

* * *

 **Random Acts**

Daryl paced anxiously back and forth in front of the TV, twisting his fingers in his hair as his hands folded and refolded on the back of his head.

The pacing had been going on for about ten minutes now.

And though he knew that he was gettin' a bit too worked up about the situation at hand, that couldn't be helped. Because he was listenin' in on Carol finishing up with her _seventh_ , shelter call.

And the suspense was freaking _KILLIN'_ him!

Because this was the first call that had seemed to have any promise at all. All of the other places had turned her down within thirty seconds for either the "overflow," or those "flu restriction," reasons. But when Carol had called this most recent place, The East Side Garden, she'd gotten through those first thirty seconds without getting a hang-up. And then she'd muttered over to him that the lady had just put her on hold. And when Daryl had asked why, Carol said that she was supposed to checking on something in their database. And that 'database checkin'' took FOREVER . . . two minutes _AT LEAST_ . . . and so he'd started gettin' WAY too antsy to keep sitting on that damn bed. Sittin' on the damn bed was okay when he was trying to be 'supportive,' but by then he just wanted to know what the hell was going on! Because even after the lady came back on the line, Carol still hadn't said anything besides a, "yes, I'm here."

And that was a good six minutes ago!

Since then, she'd been put on hold two more times, and Sophia had come out of the bathroom, (finally) to set up camp, sittin' cross-legged in the middle of his empty bed. It wasn't until she'd heard her mama murmuring another, "uh, huh" into the telephone, that she'd looked up at Daryl to ask what was goin' on. All he could do was just shrug and whisper, "we're waitin' to hear if they got room."

Then he went back to his pacing again.

But now he'd just stopped, because Carol had finally muttered something besides an, "uh, huh."

No, this had been a full on sentence. One that didn't really clue him in too much though. It was, his brow wrinkled as he replayed it in his head, quote, "yes, she's ten, and no, we won't have any problems with that."

Before he had too much time to ruminate on what those words meant though, he saw Carol nodding to herself again. Then she scribbled something down on the back of the map they were using . . . there was another pause that went on for a little bit . . . and then a, "thank you very much for your help."

After that, he saw her finally, (praise Jesus) . . . hang up that damnable phone.

Then for about three more seconds, he just stood there with his fists clenched, waitin' on her to spill her guts. But all he was getting back was total silence. And seeing that Carol wasn't about to be volunteering anything all on her own . . . she looked a bit dumbfounded starin' down at the floor. . . Daryl finally just gave in and threw his hands up in the air.

" _Well_?!" he yelled, "what the HELL did she SAY?!"

Jesus, it was like God damn final Jeopardy round here!

But then he saw Carol tip her head back, as a little smile spread across her face, and that ball of tension in his gut finally started to let up. Because he was thinkin' now that maybe they had some good news.

He bit his lip.

Or at least it seemed they did.

"Tomorrow," Carol answered Daryl's question with a relieved sigh, "the woman said that they could take us tomorrow. There are two families that are transitioning out at noon, and their slots will open up at three. And it's a long term facility with job training and a counseling program, so if things worked out, meaning if we pass through the five day probationary period without a problem, then we'd be set with their full resources for at least forty-five days. That's when we'd get another eval. I just can't believe it though," her teeth sunk into her lip as her head slowly shook back and forth, "forty-five days with beds."

Twenty some odd minutes ago she'd been sure that she and Sophia were doomed to a sewer grate, so it was almost impossible to wrap her mind around this change in circumstance. _Forty-five_ days not only to get her life together, but also to have the resources to do so.

It was too much for her to have even hoped for.

Almost like . . . she looked up at Daryl staring down at her . . . this man right here suddenly appearing the way that he'd had. He'd been too much to hope for too. And even though he'd been the one who had been trying to reassure her that everything would work out, that they'd find them a good place to stay, she could see from the way he was still just blinking there with no expression, that it was almost as difficult for Daryl to process what she'd just said, as it had been for her.

But finally this look just came over his face, right before his eyes lit up. And then he threw his fist in the air.

"WA HOOH!" he whooped, "FORTY-FIVE DAYS WITH BEDS!"

And her hands came up to her mouth as she started to laugh. But then he was clapping _his_ hands, and pointing down at her.

"COME ON WOMAN!" he yelled with a twirl of his finger, "LET'S HEAR IT!"

And seeing that he was serious . . . he expected her to _yell_ (!) . . . she bit her lip before hollering back as loud as she dared.

"Forty-five day with _beds_!"

"LOUDER!" He yelled, straight faced, as Sophia started to giggle off to their right. And turning to see the bright, happy smile on her daughter's face, Carol finally she just gave in and half screamed, half laughed.

"FORTY-FIVE DAYS WITH _**BEDS**_!"

Which, of course, resulted in the person next door immediately pounding on the wall, telling them to shut the hell up. But Daryl just walked over and pounded back with a, "SCREW YOU BUDDY! WE HAVE FORTY-FIVE DAYS WITH BEDS!" and then she was laughing even harder. So hard in fact that tears started running down her face.

It had been years . . . definitely in the years long before Ed . . . that she had found that much joy in anything. And she probably would have kept going, if not for the cramps that suddenly hit.

"Oh my God," she moaned while clutching her mid-section, "my stomach hurts!" And then she heard Sophia groan back, on half a giggle, "mine too mama!"

Daryl just gave them both a good natured eye roll before he smacked his hands together.

"All right," he twirled his finger around, "up and at 'em ladies, we gotta get goin'! We're gonna have a good day now, and by tonight, we'll have found some place a hell of a lot nicer to sleep than this dump. Actually," he pointed to the phone book that Carol was pushing off her lap as she slowly stood up, still rubbing her stomach, "we should keep that with us. We'll flip through the hotel section after we eat."

"Oh, but," Carol turned around to look at the book, before turning back to him with a faint wrinkle in her nose, "isn't that stealing?"

And he stopped and he stared at her for a second . . . was she for real? But seeing that she _was_ for real, the woman really thought that taking the hotel room phone book counted as stealing, he tipped his head.

"It's a _free_ book, Carol," he answered slowly, "remember? The phone company just dumps 'em by the truckload on your front porch, whether you like it or not."

"Oh," she huffed while reaching up to wipe the corner of her eye, "right. Sorry, I forgot. I was just thin . . ."

And she stopped. So Daryl walked a few steps closer.

"What were you thinkin'?" He asked with a furrow to his brow and a bit of a twitch to his lips, "that you didn't wanna get, _in trouble_? Was that it? Did you think we could get arrested?"

And though Carol didn't answer, she didn't even actually make eye contact with him, he could tell from the way her skin turned a nice rosy shade of pink, that she had TRULY been thinking, for _however_ briefly, that they could get arrested.

For stealing a free phone book.

The thought of it was just at the same time so ridiculous, and well, sweet . . . there was an innocence there in her thinkin', that he hadn't encountered much in his life . . . that Daryl couldn't stop himself from reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders. And when Carol slowly lifted her eyes, and he saw that sheepish look on her face, he just shook his head.

"We are _not_ gonna get arrested for stealin' a free phone book," he said softly, "got it?"

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "I know. It was a stup . . ."

"But even if we _did_ get arrested for stealin' a free phone book," he continued on, speaking as though she hadn't interrupted, "I'd take the rap for ya."

Hearing Daryl's words, as his fingertips lightly pressed into her shoulders, Carol felt a little spark of warmth in her chest. She bit down on her lip.

"You sure you could handle that much time?" She joked back.

"Yeah well," his hands fell down as he stepped back with a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth, "those two hours plus lunch would be pretty tough, but if you promise to visit, I think I could make it through."

Seeing Carol's mouth quiver right before she put her hand up to cover the laugh, he felt another pull on his own smile. But he hid it away by turning to pick up her backpack.

It was on the floor a few inches away from their bare feet.

"Okay," he murmured, while slowly straightening up, "you go get dressed." He passed her the bag, "and don't forget to wash up good," his nose wrinkled, "because remember we've both been touchin' that pen, and each other, and we still gotta eat without gettin' the hepatitis."

Carol pushed down a shiver.

"Bleh," she made a face as her gaze flickered between Daryl and the offending pen, "that's so disgusting. Actually," she turned around and picked up the offending pen with the tips of her fingers . . . like it mattered now, "I'm gonna wash it while I'm in there washing myself."

"But we're leavin'," Daryl pointed out as she started to talk away, "it don't matter if it gets clean now."

And he saw her eyes crinkle.

"It matters to the next people that stay here." Then she turned around, waving over her shoulder, "I'll be ready in five."

For a second Daryl just stood there, watching as Carol finished crossing the room, dangling that dirty pen from her fingertips, before she disappeared into the bathroom.

It wasn't until after the door had clicked shut, that his attention finally shifted back to what he shoulda been doing. Which was putting on his boots.

But that's when he saw that Sophia had gotten up off the bed, and was now staring up at him with those wide eyes.

And though it was his first instinct to feel a bit defensive about her starin' at him while he stared at her mama . . . yeah, he knew it was stupid, shut up . . . he pushed that defensiveness away. Because he wasn't goin' to be snappy to a little girl. Just on principle really, but especially to one that'd been having the kind of time that this little girl was.

Might as well just go kick a puppy while he was at it.

So as he walked by her to get his boots from where he'd left them by the door, he tried to distract her before she asked him a question that he didn't want to answer.

Like why he was looking at her mama like that.

"You all packed up little girl?" He asked, in his best 'conversational' tone, while dropping down onto the end of his bed . . . he had his balled up socks in his hand.

And of course Sophia immediately nodded back at him.

"Uh huh." She answered softly, while wringing her little fingers together in that nervous way she did. "Mama told me not to take out anything but the clothes I was changing into right when I was changing into them, and then to put the dirty ones back in my bag right away so I wouldn't forget 'em."

"Mmm," Daryl nodded over to her as he yanked his first sock on, "your mama's a real smart lady. But what about," without looking he pointed over to the bed next to his, "that little lady over there?"

Seeing Sophia's brow wrinkle as she looked over at the pile of messy blankets, trying to figure out what the hell it was he was talking about, he added one helpful hint.

"She's got a foot sticking out from under the sheet."

And watching those little eyes suddenly widen in horror, he knew immediately that she'd seen what he'd spotted twelve seconds earlier.

"ANNA MARIE!" Sophia yelped, rushing over to yank the doll out from underneath the blankets she'd gotten tangled up in.

And watchin' as she clutched that little rag doll to her chest like it was a real child she'd nearly left behind, Daryl felt a twinge. One where he almost (almost) regretted not just picking up the doll and handing it back to Sophia directly, rather than pointin' things out the way that he had.

But he'd done what he'd done for a reason.

So that _next time_ , when she was packing her bags in a rush, she wouldn't just assume she hadn't left anything behind because her memory told her so. And he knew that if she was gonna learn that lesson, then she needed to have that tiny flash of panic for her brain to snag onto. That's what made the imprint and changed the behavior.

It was the only way to get the lesson learned quick.

Still though, watching how her little chest was heaving with anxiety, he did feel a bit like a heel for what he did. So he found himself putting his second sock down onto the bed, before he made a gesture for her to come closer.

And when she did, though still with those dramatic little gasps, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

"It's okay," he murmured with a little smile, "you don't hafta stress so much. I wouldn't have let ya leave without her. But I just want you to remember," her heavy breaths stilled as their eyes caught, "you always gotta look, okay? Even if you're a _hundred percent_ sure that there's nothin' to look for, you gotta double check before you go. Ya know why?"

"'Cuz," her lower lip came out just before she finished whispering back, "'cuz, people don't remember stuff that they forgot?"

Hearing her answer come out as a question, the corner of Daryl's mouth quirked up.

"Exactly. Nobody _ever_ remembers the stuff they forgot. So," his eyes shifted over her left shoulder as he pointed towards the backpack she'd dropped down onto the seat of the desk chair, "after you pack up Anna Marie," his eyes bounced back to hers, "do another quick walk around, make sure there's nothing else here that you didn't remember you forgot."

"Okay," she answered with another whisper, just before she bit down her lip. Though as she started to actually turn away, Daryl reached out to touch her arm.

"One more thing," he said softly.

And she turned back.

"What?"

"Can you give me a little smile, please?" He asked seriously, "because if your mama comes outta the bathroom and sees that look on your face, she's gonna think I was peelin' off your fingernails or something."

Seeing Sophia's lips begin to twitch, he nodded.

"That's better, thank you. And really darlin'," his eyes crinkled faintly, "what we're talkin' about isn't a big deal. Just somethin' to get in the habit of for next time you're packing up, 'k?"

She nodded once before answering with a soft, "okay."

And that time the response came with a real little smile, too. One with enough warmth in it that Daryl actually felt a little happier just for seein' it. Funny thing about kids that he'd kind of forgot, they really did put you on a bit of coaster.

And this one wasn't even related!

But still he found himself shaking his head as he waved her off to go pack up her doll. And once he was sure that Anna Marie was safely secured, and Sophia was startin' on her walk around, he went back to pulling on his boots.

He'd just gotten the second one laced up, when he heard the bathroom door open.

His eyes snapped up and over to see Carol steppin' out. She'd changed into fitted black pants, and a short sleeved white t-shirt with one of those V necks.

The shirt had a little pink flower in the middle of it.

Personally, he kinda liked the shortie pajamas better, but . . . he slowly pushed himself up as she walked over to drop the pen onto the night stand . . . that wasn't really his place to say.

"We about set?" He asked while leaning over to snag his shirt up from the back of the desk chair. And he heard Carol murmur a muffled, "uh huh," in response. So he turned around to see that she was down on her hands and knees next to the bed.

It was the one she'd slept in.

"Just making sure we didn't drop anything," she added by explanation, as she came back to her feet with a brush of her hands across her knees. And Daryl, almost involuntarily, paused in doing his buttons, as he found his eyes popping over to lock onto Sophia's.

And seeing that sheepish little grin she gave him, his lip quirked up.

"Yeah, always good to do a double check," he answered over to Carol as his attention shifted back to her shaking out the blankets, "Sophia was just doing the same thing."

Carol paused to look over at her daughter with a smile.

"Good job honey," then she gestured down towards the floor. "And make sure you double check those laces too. I think one might be getting loose."

Of course the laces were getting loose, because her daughter kicked her sneakers on and off without ever untying/retying them first. Which meant that generally, over the period of a single school week, the weak little knots Sophia made in the laces, would slowly begin to unravel until she would invariably trip, walking out the front door. It happened literally, once a week.

And it kind of drove Carol up the wall.

But it was such a small thing, and really more of a pet peeve than anything else . . . especially compared to what a sweet, well behaved, little girl Sophia really was . . . that Carol tried to restrict commenting on the lace situation until she actually saw one of the laces dragging on the ground.

As _two_ of them were, right now.

And seeing Sophia look down at them, right before looking back up at her with a little smile, Carol just gave her an affectionate eye roll. Because really, if this was _LITERALLY_ the only critique she had with her daughter's behavior, and it pretty much was the only one, then she probably should just suck it up and let the girl trip on her laces. Because eventually she was actually going to fall flat on her face, and then she'd remember to start checking them on her own.

The problem would resolve itself.

It wasn't until Carol turned around, with her backpack half slid up on her shoulder, that she realized the logical counterpoint that she'd just made in her head, had come to her in Daryl's voice. And when she looked over to see him doing up the last button on his shirt . . . the one he'd dried her tears with . . . a soft smile touched her lips.

"I'm all set," she called over to him, as she slid the second strap into place. And he nodded, "yep, me too." Then his attention shifted to Sophia kneeling down straightening out her hot pink shoe laces.

"How about you, darlin'? Sneakers good?"

And Sophia nodded as she double tied the second bow.

"Yep," she jumped up, snagging her backpack as she did, "I'm ready."

So Daryl picked up his own bag, jammed the map and (free) phone book down inside of it, buckled it back up, and threw it over his shoulder.

When he looked up again, he found that Carol was standing in front of him holding the two room keys in her hand.

"We just have to turn these in," she said softly, "you want to take them?"

And he nodded as he put his hand out, "yeah, I'll do it. The day clerk's not likely to be any less creepy than the night one was."

Seeing the way Carol's lip quirked up at that, his eyes crinkled a bit as he tipped his head towards the door.

"After you."

So Carol and Sophia headed out into the hall, with Daryl following just a step behind them. They all paused while he locked up, before they continued on down towards the elevator.

Now Daryl was back in front.

Though he was figurin' that it should be notably safer walking around there in the daytime than when they'd arrived last night, he still sure as hell wasn't lettin' _Sophia_ , take point!

Case _in_ freaking point, it was just as they were getting to the end of the hall, that the elevator doors started to open up. So he stopped, and put his arm back behind him to make sure that both Sophia and Carol, where right he needed them to be.

And feeling his forearm brush against the outline of first a shorter body, and then his fingertips brush against a taller one, he knew that they were.

His arm fell back down.

Though when the elevator doors finally finished creakin' open, and the person inside started to step out . . . pushing an overloaded cart in front of her . . . he let out a sigh of relief.

It was just the maid.

And she wasn't paying them any attention. There was some sort of Caribbean music coming out of the dangly head phones she was wearing, and she really seemed to be off in her own world. Just staring down into the oversized trash can taking up the center block of her rolly cart, as she pushed it off the elevator.

And not wantin' to be an ass, not if he could help it anyway, rather than pushing around her to get the elevator before the doors shut, he gave her a wide berth so she could get that behemoth cart by them first.

They could spare the minute.

Which was just about what it took for her to get the cart passed them down the hallway . . . the wheels kept catching in that ratty maroon carpeting . . . but he was just about to finally inch around her and hit the button to get the car back, when he heard Carol say from behind him.

"Excuse me miss, is this your regular floor?"

And he turned around to see her tapping that young lady on the shoulder.

His brow quirked up in confusion when he saw the woman whip around, while pulling one of the head phones out of her ear.

"Yeah, ma'am," she murmured back with a definite island accent . . . though Daryl had no clue which island that might be, "I come three times a week to clean and change the sheets for the rooms that got used." And then he saw Carol give that woman a bright smile as she pointed back towards their room.

"Well, we were in 328, and I just wanted to say that the bathroom in there was _spotless_. So," she nodded, "thank you for doing such a nice job."

For a moment the lady just stared back at her, like she was waiting for the punch line on the joke. But then she seemed to realize that Carol was being serious, and Daryl saw that lady's eyes light up in a way that made him kind of pleased to see.

"Thank you ma'am," she answered with a bright smile, "that's very kind! You and your family," she threw a quick, happy glance, over to Sophia and Daryl, "I hope you have a blessed day."

"Thank you," Carol nodded as she gave the woman a little smile in return, "I hope you do too."

Then she turned around on her heel to look up at Daryl.

"I'm ready to go now."

Still though, he just stared at her for a second before his lip quirked up. Then he let out a soft huff as he turned to finally press his thumb down on the elevator button.

Of course it came back sticky.

Though as he was wiping it on his pants leg (rememberin' then that he'd forgotten to wash his hands, anyhow), he felt Carol touch his arm, right before she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"She said she only does the rooms."

His eyes snapped down to see her giving him a wink.

And then the door slid open, and he lost his chance to say anything in return.

But as he followed her and Sophia onto that empty car, he couldn't stop the look that he gave to that pretty silver haired woman, who surprised him more and more every time she opened her mouth.

And it was clear from the faint bit of pink that was touchin' her cheeks, that Carol knew why he was giving her the look. Finally, she shrugged.

"I just figured it was a really crappy job working here, and nobody had ever said thank you before, so I would be a person who did. And you have to admit," she gave a firm nod, "that bathroom, was REALLY clean. I mean sitting on the floor in there for like fifty minutes, I got a good look around, and she does do a good job. The whole place smelled like bleach. It's not her fault the hotel's falling down around her ears."

For a moment Daryl didn't say anything, he just stared. But then he looked over at the grubby keypad on the wall.

He pressed down on the L.

And as the car began to creak into motion, his attention bounced over to Sophia standing at Carol's side, before it shifted back to Carol herself.

"You're a real nice lady, Carol Pelletier," he said softly. "And," he gave a serious nod as his hand once more unconsciously scrubbed against his pants leg, "for that, I might just buy you an ice cream cone today."

Seeing the grin she flashed him for that remark, was enough for him to shoot her a smirk back.

"I didn't say for _sure_ ," he added with a dismissive eyebrow, "I'm still thinkin' on it."

"Well," Carol cleared her throat to cover over the laugh bubbling up, "I appreciate the thought either way. Though if you do decide to buy me one," her hands came up to settle on her daughter's slim shoulders, "you know I'm gonna have to split it with Miss Sophia."

He just scowled at that.

"Ah heck no, she's getting her own cone." Then his eyebrow inched up again as he looked down at the little girl in question.

"You want two scoops?"

And she nodded seriously.

"Yes, please."

So his eyes darted back up to her mother's.

"See," he shrugged, "we're good."

Carol started to laugh.

"Only a day in and you two are already thick as thieves, plotting against me. I can only imagine where I'll be in a week."

It was only after the words had left her mouth, and she saw how Daryl's expression fell, along with his gaze, that Carol realized what she'd just said.

Her laughter fell away with a sigh.

"Though I guess with us going our separate ways tomorrow," she added sadly, "we'll never know what would have been in a week."

The comment alone was enough to put a damper on their mood, but then before she could think of anything else to say . . . something a little cheerier, would have been nice . . . the door started to slid open onto the ground level. And feeling the heavy humidity immediately hit her face, as she heard the clear sounds of the street traffic hit her in the ears, Carol knew that things weren't quite right out there.

"Hold up," Daryl murmured over his shoulder.

So she held onto Sophia, as he stepped out to look around. After a few seconds he turned back and put his arm out.

"It's all right, just," his attention briefly shifted to the ground and then over to them again, "careful where you step. There's a lotta glass and blood they still haven't cleaned up."

Feeling a jolt to her heart, Carol's eyes widened.

Glass and blood?! What the hell had happened out there? But then she suddenly flashed on what she'd seen out the window. All of those people that had flooded the street after the shooting was done.

The bystanders.

So as she slowly walked Sophia off the elevator, she braced herself for the remnants of that mayhem. And mayhem is definitely the scene that she got. The front windows were all blown out (hence the excessive humidity and street noise), most of those nasty couches and chairs were overturned, and there was glass just EVERYWHERE. And the blood, well . . . she bit down on her lip . . . that ranged from little droplets, to congealing puddles of varying sizes.

Though all of the bigger puddles had flies hovering over them.

"It must have been terrible down here last night," she murmured when Daryl reached for her hand. But she saw him shake his head as his grip on her fingers tightened.

"Naw," he muttered back, "it was terrible for us upstairs." His jaw twitched as his attention caught on a bullet hole right at eye level, two inches from his head.

"It was hell down here."

Those last few words came out on a whisper. Because once more he was thankin' God, and that shitbag night clerk, that he was able to get them those third floor rooms. Because anyone in the firin' line down here, had to have gotten torn up at least some. And as he started leading Carol and Sophia through the lobby, trying to avoid the worst of the glass and blood, he sorta woulda liked to have asked somebody just what the final injury count was.

But there was nobody around.

All the druggies and the pimps and the hookers that had been there when they'd arrived last night . . . they'd moved on. As to whether that clearance was a temporary situation or not . . . he was presuming that part of it was the time of day, but some of them had to have been hurt too . . . he had no idea.

Either way, it felt strange walking through there like they owned the place.

Even the day clerk seemed to be gone off somewhere. But then he saw the number of bullet holes now ventilatin' that front desk, and the shattered bits sticking out of that blasted TV the night clerk had been watching the fight on, and he had an idea as to why the day clerk might be tied up on other matters.

Possibly on the phone tryin' to get a new hire on that evenin' slot.

But that would be back room business, and as he paused to drop their keys over the counter, he couldn't hear anything through the closed door marked, "Private." In fact, when they continued walking, aside from the glass crunchin' under their feet, and the occasional squeak of Sophia's sneakers, it was sort of an eerie quiet goin' on, all around them in there. Especially compared to the noisy cars rolling down the street, and the people walking by out on the sidewalk just on the other side of those broken out windows.

Life was passin' on like normal out there.

"The people that were here last night," Sophia suddenly startled Daryl with her quiet, worried, little voice, "do you think they got hurt real bad, Daryl?"

And he looked over at Carol biting her lip, before he reached out with his free hand to give Sophia's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know darlin'," he let out on a sigh, "but some of them probably did have to go to the hospital. If you want though," his jaw twisted as he looked around the open room again, "you can keep a good thought that maybe most of them just got a little bit cut up from the glass, and that's where the majority of this blood is from."

It was pretty much a fool's hope that all this blood just came from a few cuts and scrapes, but little girl's were allowed to have fool's hopes. Especially the kind of sweet little girl who would be worried about what happened to a lobby full of junkies and hookers.

She definitely got her mama's kind heart.

And he really just wanted to get the two of them out of there, but just as they were moving over towards the front door, he saw it startin' to pull back.

So he immediately pulled his ladies back too.

But once more it was a false worry alarm. Because this time it was just the old man they'd spotted last night.

The one they'd startled when they were walking down the upstairs hall.

And once again, that poor old man stopped short when he saw them standin' there. So once again, Daryl just put his hand up.

"We met last night," he reminded him, loudly, "up on three."

And the old man nodded as he let out a breath.

"Right," he murmured in response, before he continued walking forward, shifting the brown bag he was lugging under his left arm, "that's right. I remember y'all."

And Daryl started to just let him go by. But then he looked over at Carol and his jaw twisted.

"Wait here one second," he muttered with a light squeeze of her fingers, "I wanna ask him if he knows the neighborhood."

"Okay," she gave him a little nod and a smile, "we'll be here."

So he let go of her hand, and left them standing by the door, as he hurried across the lobby to catch up to the old man.

He was shuffling along at a pretty good clip, given how hunched over he was.

"Sir!" he called out when he saw the old man was about to reach the front desk, "could you hold up a second, please?!"

The man paused, and then slowly turned to look back over his shoulder.

"What's the problem, son?"

There was clear suspicion in his voice. So Daryl stopped short, a few feet back.

"No problem," he shook his head, "just a question. We were wonderin' if you knew some place we could get breakfast round here? Some place," he shot a look back to Sophia, "okay to take her to?"

The old man turned around fully then, to give Sophia a once over.

"Well," he let out a snort, "you took her _here._ "

And Daryl had to tip his head.

"True enough, but we didn't have a lotta choice in the matter last night. But now it's daytime," he scuffed his boot a bit, "and we'd like to move on to some safer establishments. If you know of any, that is."

For a second the old man just stared over at him, and then he gave Carol and Sophia another look. Finally he let out a sigh.

Though it sounded a little bit like a grumble.

"There's a diner 'bout a block away, Jeffrey's Place, and Jeffrey don't tolerate no nonsense, so that's pretty safe. But I wouldn't advise goin' there unless you're real desperate, cuz the new cook don't like white people much. And no offense son," he huffed, "but you look about as redneck as they come, so he'd likely spit in your coffee."

"Okay," Daryl nodded slowly, "thanks for the tip. Now you know of any place we can go where they _won't_ spit in the coffee?"

"Um," he brought one of his wrinkly hands up to rub his chin, "yeah, if you don't mind a little walk, there's a McDonald's. It's three blocks thatta way," he pointed behind Daryl's head, "and one block over to the east. Can't miss it really once you go the three blocks. And," he shot Sophia a quick peek, "the neighborhood's better over there, still not too nice, but," he nodded to himself as he looked around the bloody lobby, "better."

It was quiet for a second as Daryl's eyes followed the old man's around the room. Then he nodded.

"All right then, thank you."

And he started to turn away . . . but then he found himself turning back. He wasn't quite sure why that was. Maybe it was a bit of Carol's recent influence.

Or maybe it was just old fragments of his momma's.

Either way, he didn't feel right, knowing what they'd been running from last night, to now just go off and leave this scrawny old man all alone there, when he was already so afraid of his own shadow.

And he didn't even know it was the thing behind the shadow to really be scared of.

So before the old timer had taken more than another shuffle forward, Daryl had skirted around in front of him.

"Sorry, but," he put his hand up, "just one more thing. You gotta agree," he made a gesture towards the mess surrounding them, "that what this was last night, wasn't normal. Even for a neighborhood like this."

And he saw the old man bite down on his lip, before he gave a grudging nod.

It was enough of an opening for Daryl to say the rest of it.

"And you're probably sharp enough to have picked up," he continued with a quick look, "that some things are going on just generally with the druggies, that are a bit unusual."

Again there was a faint nod. So Daryl continued.

"But," he took a breath, "even before what happened out in the street, I saw some stuff last night, and _heard_ some stuff," he paused for a second when the old man's milky eyes snapped up to his, "that'd straighten your hair. They were the kind of horrible things that a person can't fight. Just run from," he bit his lip, "if a person could run."

After seeing the old man's face flush a bit at that, Daryl felt a little bad. That he'd hurt his pride or something. And he probably had. After all, once he was a young man too. And it must be a hard thing to lose your strength, and probably your courage along with it.

That was likely why he seemed so afraid.

But Daryl was trying to do good here, not make the guy feel worse, so he just finished up as quickly as he could.

"I know this ain't really my business old timer," he said on a rush, "and maybe any other day I'd just keep my damn mouth shut and go on my way. But," he bit his lip again as he shot another look over his shoulder, seeing Carol and Sophia watching him, "I've had a strange night. So," he looked back down, "I'm just making a suggestin'," he let out a sigh as he looked away and then looked back, "and you can take it or leave it, but you might wanna think about finding another place to stay besides this hotel."

Seeing the old man's eyes widen in surprise, Daryl finished softly.

"Maybe somewhere outside the city, just 'til things get a little less crazy again."

For a second the old man just looked up at him, then he looked down at the broken glass on the floor.

The shard by their feet was tinted red.

"I don't stay here cuz I have a lotta options son," he murmured still staring at the ground, "I stay here cuz I don't."

When he finally looked up, Daryl had to blink when he saw the faint sheen on his eyes.

"Thank you for the information, and the concern, but," he finished with a shrug, "I really don't have the means to go nowhere else."

And he turned with a hike up of his little brown bag, and started his slow shuffle away.

Again.

Watching him go, Daryl bit down, hard, on that same corner of his lip he kept gnawin' at. Then he kicked the floor with the toe of his boot and growled a bit when a piece of glass went flying. Finally he shot another look back at Carol . . . who was now, based on the eyebrow he could see inchin' up . . . apparently getting a little concerned at his behavior.

Yeah . . . he bit down another growl as he looked over to the remains of the shattered windows . . . join the damn club.

Finally he just muttered, "fuck it," and shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled out the bills he found crumpled up in there. He looked down.

Two twenties, a ten and a five. And that was his money, not Merle's.

He looked back up.

"Hey pops," he called out as he hurried over to catch up with the old man just reaching the far hallway, leading towards the elevator, "hold up."

That time when the old guy turn around, they just looked at each other for a second.

Then Daryl walked up and shoved the bills into his hand.

"It's enough to get outta the city," he whispered, "anywhere but here, man. Just a buy a bus ticket and go somewhere quiet."

"Boy, I can't . . ." He started to protest, but Daryl cut him off.

"You _can_ ," he responded firmly. "Because if somethin' else happens here," his lips pressed together in a grim smile, "and those ladies over there ask me if I think that old man we met is okay, I wanna be able to say, he left. So they don't have no reason to worry about him at all."

The old man huffed a bit at that, but finally he gave a slow nod as he looked down at the money clutched in his liver spotted hand.

"I do have a cousin," he whispered.

Then he looked back up with a faint smile.

"I'll say a prayer for you and your family, son"

"My fam . . ."

The words started to trip out of Daryl in confusion, but then he stopped and looked over his shoulder for a fourth time. To Carol and Sophia huddled by the door.

Still there waitin' on him.

"That's not my family." He finished softly, as his eyes shifted back and down to the old man, "they're just some people that I'm looking after."

"Well that's what family is, boy," the old man said, that faint smile brightening bit, "people to look after." Then he gave Daryl's arm a quick pat, before he started on his way again.

"Think I'll call Cousin Louinda down in Dawson, see if she'd mind a visit," was the last thing Daryl heard him mutter. And he watched him go, his hunched over self moving around the shattered glass and sticky red spots covering the floor. Finally Daryl nodded to himself.

"Dawson," he let out on a soft murmur, "that's a speck a dust. It should be quiet down there."

Then he took a breath, and turned to go over and collect his charges.

"Come on ladies," he said as he walked up to them with his arm out, "I got a place for us to eat."

"What took so long?" Carol asked as Daryl guided her through the front door and around a homeless man sleeping in the alcove . . . apparently the lower level wasn't totally deserted.

"Mmm," Daryl murmured dismissively, "we was just talkin' a bit, bout current events." Then he sucked his teeth, "but there's a McDonald's he said. Three blocks straight," he pointed north down the hot, dirty, sidewalk they were just stepping onto, "and then one block over to the east."

His gaze bounced down to Carol's.

"He said it's a better neighborhood too. Not nice," he continued faintly, now with the three of them walking along all shielding their still adjusting eyes, from the glaring sun, "but better."

"Anything would be better than this," Carol whispered, her gaze shifting to lock down on a frothy red stain still drying in the gutter.

The gory runoff leftover from after they'd hosed down the streets.

Her teeth sunk into her lip as she tried to bite down a grimace, thinking back to the pools of blood she'd seen the night before.

It took a second to wipe the picture from her mind.

And when she turned her head again, she saw that Daryl and Sophia hadn't noticed that she'd paused. So now they were a few steps ahead of her, walking side by side. Her in her blue pastel shorts and white t-shirt, with the pink flowered backpack bouncing along, him in his biker jeans and his sleeveless blue cotton, with the scruffy leather bag flung over his shoulder. Carol's eyes suddenly crinkled as the images of last night's violence, were pushed from her brain.

Because those two looked really sweet together.

And they definitely made quite the pair. And though they weren't talking, her daughter seemed very at ease now with their new friend. Or really, maybe she was just more at ease generally. Perhaps it was just because the sun was out again, and the world, even the bad neighborhoods in it, always seemed a little nicer when the sun was out. It wasn't always true that they were, of course. She started walking after her pair, hastening her steps to catch up.

But it sort of seemed that way.

For instance, right now, the sidewalks weren't full of prostitutes and drug addicts. No, mostly it just looked like regular people out on a Saturday morning. People like them. Children and older folks, walking and talking. Some of the kids were bouncing basketballs, like maybe they were on the way to go play a game. A couple of old ladies went by with those 'push kind' grocery carts, followed soon after by a group of women, mothers probably, lugging sacks of net and canvas bagged clothes, on their shoulders. They were all laughing and talking in Spanish as they headed for the Laundromat she could see up on the corner. It was all just . . . Carol's lips pressed together . . . normal. So normal.

And yet they lived in all this hell.

It made her feel guilty (almost) for running away from the life that she'd had. Yeah, okay, inside the walls of her home with Ed, she lived in terror. But outside, her neighborhood, and her neighbors . . . she was lucky. It wasn't like this.

Her world was safe.

Except . . . she bit down on her cheek . . . it wasn't really. Sure, without Ed it was safe, but Ed wasn't going anywhere. Which was why she'd had to get her and Sophia out of that house. Because her baby's daddy would have killed them both eventually, of that she was sure. And really what difference would it have made, in the end, if her daughter had died because she caught a bystander's bullet from a melee of the kind they'd seen last night, or if it was because her father had slammed her head against the wall one too many times for spilling her milk.

She'd be dead all the same.

So no . . . Carol sucked in a ragged breath, blinking away the moisture in her eyes . . . no, she had nothing to feel guilty about. A person could only take what they could take. And she'd taken all that Ed had doled out, and then some. But finally she was able to draw her line, and had started planning her, _their_ . . . her eyes drifted ahead again to her daughter walking along . . . escape. It might have taken some time, and years, to save up the money, but finally she'd made the move to run away. If only she'd known the money was going to get stolen, she huffed bitterly to herself, she probably could have saved herself a concussion or two.

But whatever . . . she let out a heavy breath, and sucked in a muggy, exhaust filled one instead . . . at least they got away. And they'd survived their first night. That was something. Granted, they'd needed more than a little help from Daryl in that regard, but she sure as hell wasn't too proud to admit that was help that they'd desperately needed. And they would be with him for one more night, and then they'd be in a safe place, even if it was all on their own. But that was okay . . . she nodded to herself . . . they'd make it.

She was sure of it.

And though it hadn't really been Carol's plan when the left the hotel to string along behind the other two, somehow when her mind started wandering, that's what she ended up doing. It was kind of nice though, just being able to step back and think, and look at the world, and not have to worry about her daughter's place in it for a few minutes. Because she knew that she was safe where she was.

Daryl was right there with her.

The funny thing about that was though, when they got to the big intersection a block down, Sophia immediately reached up to take Daryl's hand. Carol was pretty sure that her daughter didn't even think about it before she did it. All she knew was what she'd always been told. That she wasn't old enough yet to cross the big streets, without holding onto an adult.

She was just following the rules.

And Daryl, Carol saw from her vantage point a few feet behind, he kind of whipped his head around as his eyes snapped down to the little girl at his side. In that moment Sophia wasn't paying him any attention at all.

She was just pushing a worm off the sidewalk with the toe of her sneaker.

Carol really didn't know what Daryl was going to do. He could have politely shaken her daughter off, or turned around and not so politely, _handed_ her off, to her mother. And as to being that mother, Carol would have been fine with either reaction from him.

In fact, she was ready for it.

Because for all that he'd done for them, Sophia still wasn't his kid. He had no responsibilities towards her. It was MORE than enough that he was just protecting them the way he'd been, so Carol expected that maybe holding a little girl's hand while she crossed the street, might be a tad too much "domesticity" for him. So it came as a bit of a surprise, when she saw Daryl just look at her daughter for a few seconds, before the corner of his lip quirked up. Then he looked back out into the traffic, watching it roll along.

Carol could all the lines on the cars, glinting in the morning sun.

"Careful you don't step on that worm," he finally murmured down to her daughter, "you wouldn't like it if somebody came along and stepped on you when you was out for a mornin' stroll. Then you'd be stuck to somebody's sneaker all day."

Sophia immediately pulled her foot back. Then she looked up at him with a tiny grin.

"It'd have to be a giant to step on me," she giggled, "like the kind with the beanstalks."

Daryl turned to look down at her again. His brow was a bit furrowed, like he was thinking about what she'd said.

"You think that giants would wear sneakers when they were climbing up and down in the beanstalks?" He asked her after a pause, and Carol nearly burst out laughing. Because Sophia immediately sobered, before looking up at him with a nearly identical expression of befuddlement. She finally shrugged.

"I don't know what they'd wear."

"Hmm," he murmured, "me neither. I guess it'll be one of life's mysteries." He turned back to the street again, before giving a little tug on her hand, "come on now," he let out a breath, "light's changed."

And once more Carol had to scurry to catch up to them. Though that time it was more that she had deliberately held herself back a few extra steps, so they wouldn't hear her still chuckling about their beanstalk conversation.

They really were too adorable.

It was about a half a block later though, that Carol was pulled from her lingering amusement. Because that was when Daryl suddenly stopped short and put his arm across Sophia's chest.

"Hold her here for a second," he murmured over his shoulder. And Carol, feeling her heart rate immediately speed up, quickly stepped forward to put her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

"What is it?" She called out a bit anxiously, watching as Daryl took three more steps before he leaned over to look down into a small, fenced in yard, just ahead of them.

He immediately jumped back.

"God damn it," he cursed, before hurriedly spinning around to return to where they were standing. But he didn't stop moving, he just put his hand out to turn Sophia's head while simultaneously blocking her peripheral vision.

"We're gonna cross over now," he muttered tightly.

"What is it?" Carol repeated, this time as an anxious hiss as he moved them over to the opposite sidewalk of the narrow side street.

"Somethin' dead," his jaw clenched as he gave a quick look back to the small garden now getting further away, "and neither of you needed to see it."

It would have been nice if he hadn't seen it either. Because he liked dogs. And if he had gone his whole life without seeing a border collie laying here with its guts torn out and flies buzzin' all over it, he could have lived just fine. But there it was, neck still in the collar, collar still attached to the leash, and leash still hooked on the pole.

And big old bite marks clear as day, right there around its belly and hindquarters.

He shot another look over his shoulder . . . and that wasn't another dog that had done that damage. Those were small bite widths.

Ones that . . . God help him . . . looked human.

So he was pretty sure that dead dog there, probably had something to do with all the rest of that madness he'd seen and heard last night. All these people goin' crazy, and EATING things! His teeth ground together.

 _What the FUCK was goin' on around here?!_

"Daryl, are you okay?"

Hearing Carol's quiet voice come up on his side, Daryl blinked and snapped his attention to the right. His eyes immediately locked onto hers, and seeing how soft, and worried they were, he found himself giving her a faint smile.

Though he didn't feel it at all.

"I'm all right," he let out a slow breath, "just thinkin'. But you two," his attention shifted between Carol and her daughter . . . both looking up at him with the same big eyes and little nose wrinkle of concern, "don't go lookin' over any fences. And don't go poking around if you see any flies buzzin.'" His voice faded off, "because there's not gonna be anything there worth you seein'."

Though Daryl hoped that his response would quiet Carol's questions for now, he knew from the way she was still lookin' up at him . . . in a way that he was trying to ignore . . . that whenever they had a quiet minute where Sophia was occupied, she sure as hell was going to ask him what he saw in the yard. And how bad it was.

And when he'd thought that it had died.

Because that was the big concern there right then. For all of them.

Whether all the boogeymen disappeared when the sun came up.

Last night Daryl had been pretty sure that they did, he'd as much as told Carol so, flat out. That when the junkies crashed, everything would quiet down, and they'd have 'til it got dark before outside safety became a real concern again. But that dog he'd seen, he was pretty sure that was a fresh kill. No more than an hour or so old. His huntin' experience gave him that estimate, and after forty years roamin' the woods, he'd say it was a solid one. But they hadn't left the hotel until almost ten-thirty. And the sun had come up close to four hours before that. So that was the thing that he couldn't stop thinkin' on . . . his jaw clenched as he looked around . . . what the hell person had torn that dog up?

And where was he now?

Carol bit down a sigh as she felt Daryl reach back and brush his fingers brush over her shoulder, pulling her forward. It was clear that he wasn't going to let her lag behind them anymore. He was keeping her right up by his side. But it wasn't a pleasant, convivial feeling that she was getting from them walking together. Not like when they'd all been talking and joking around the hotel room. That was comfortable.

This was not.

Because whatever spark of enjoyment the new morning had been bringing them, seemed to have been permanently doused by whatever that dead thing was. They were all quiet and tense, Daryl in particular. He was definitely the worst. When he saw lines of shrubbery, or mid-height fences coming up, he kept moving her and Sophia further away from them. By the time they reached the next corner, the three of them were just walking in the street, half in the gutter.

Of course ordinarily Carol wouldn't have said that was the safest way to travel down a big city street, but it seemed to make Daryl feel a little better. A bit of the tension started to leave his jaw the closer they got to the middle of the road. So she didn't say anything about moving back up to the sidewalk.

It would just put that tension back there again.

But then Daryl surprised her, by guiding them back up onto the sidewalk himself. But then she realized it was just because of the traffic. They'd reached another big cross street. And once again, Sophia just reached up and took his hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. That time though, Carol saw Daryl blink, almost like a wince, before he reached over from his other side to gently squeeze her small hand, between his two larger ones. Then when the light changed, he brought one hand up to the top of her head.

They crossed the street that way.

Him with his right hand on her head, and her little fingers clutched in his left one. And seeing that, seeing how protective he was being of her, both touched and scared Carol. Because it meant that he hadn't actually relaxed at all. If anything he was worse. He was as badly rattled now, as he'd been when they were out last night.

But now it was daytime.

And daytime . . . she anxiously looked around them, watching the people walking up and down on the sidewalk they were stepping onto . . . it was supposed to be the safe time. They weren't supposed to have to worry again until the sun went down. Her jaw clenched.

Damn it.

Feeling her gut churning now with fear, part of Carol wanted to grab a hold of Daryl's arm, and just make him stop walking. Make him tell her what was wrong.

Make him tell her why it wasn't safe in the daylight anymore.

And she was just about to do that, because hell, whatever he said couldn't possibly make her feel any more unnerved than she already did, when suddenly something caught her attention up on the next corner. And then from down beside her, she heard Sophia clap, right before she exclaimed.

"Oh Mama, Daryl, there it is!"

And Carol felt her eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the simple joy she could hear in her daughter's voice. And all because they'd finally reached their morning's destination. Her lips curved. McDonald's.

Dead ahead.

* * *

 _A/N 2: Phew, thank God for those Golden Arches! :)_

 _We had to get them all stuck together for a full day and a second night, because it would have REALLY stretched the bonds of credulity to find a plausible reason they'd be all Brady Bunch'd up for the Apocalypse after like thirteen hours together. But I have already sketched out how they do Brady Bunch up, in what I think is an organic way. You'll find out soon :)_

 _So you know, I hate killing animals in my stories. I know they're imaginary animals, being imaginary killed, but it still bothers me because I have to picture it in my head, to write it down on the page. It's why I'll watch any crappy, horrible D rated slasher pic, but still fast forward through any scene where the family pet gets it, because the family pet getting it, is always a mandatory scene. But here, I think that noting an increase in dead animals is key to the ramp up of 'background' violence. Because we know Walkers will eat any warm blooded creature, and with just 'stray Walkers' at this point, rather than groups or herds, they're going to have easier access to domestic animals than domestic people. My opinion anyway :)_

 _I am, sadly, out of new sequential chapters, but I am fortunately NOT out of new scenes to put on the page! It is a somewhat exhausting loop playing in my head, like a movie you keep trying to pause on Live TV, but then the timer runs out and it just starts running again whether you wanted it to or not. Yeah, that's been my brain :) This whole lengthy, saga, from beginning to end. So I'm pretty sure, just for my sanity's sake, we'll have another one up before the end of the year. We won't keep going 'live' with them forever, because that would be like a 3000 chapter story, but we will be covering them pretty closely through the rest of the weekend because this is ALL key bonding time. So maybe two to three more chapters (depending on how long they are) in this back to back scene style, and then we'll start time jumping a little bit so we can get to other events I have planned coming up over 'their' next week._

 _And once more, a huge, HUGE, thanks for all the wonderful, kind, reviews I've been getting :) I've been trying to get back to people but it has been sort of a busy few days. Perhaps for you all too :) But again, loving the feedback because it's nice to know when other people also enjoy 'watching' the crazy movies that play in your head! Ha! :)_


	6. Nuggets & Numbskulls

**Author's Note** : I got caught up on a season two rewatch, (damn marathons) so you guys almost got a short one here. Then my niece went into labor and it almost came in shorter still! Well, 5000 words, but that's still shorter than what you might be getting used to :) But I finally found a 'focus window' before the whole week got sucked away, so we topped out a bit higher. And the rewatch wasn't a total loss for story time, because I at least got a fresh ear on their actual voices again. And that's always helpful :)

Picking up mid meal at McDonald's.

* * *

 **Nuggets And Numbskulls**

Daryl sat back against the booth, and let out a faint sigh.

They'd been sitting at that rear table in McDonald's for almost ten minutes, and they'd been in the McDonald's itself for nearly twenty, and he was just now startin' to relax a little.

It helped that the place was gettin' a little quieter now. When they'd first walked in, it was a fairly decent sized Saturday morning, ten fifty-four, 'last call for breakfast' crowd, that they'd found themselves at the end of. But a lot of those people were taking their stuff To Go, so the noise level dropped considerably after the lines shortened up and the McMuffins went away. Now it was about quarter after eleven, and too soon for the lunch rush. Perfect time of day really as far as Daryl was concerned, because he just wanted a few minutes of peace (the place was only about half full) and security (relatively speakin'), being inside a building with no worries about pimps or junkies, or most particularly, some freak stumbling out of the bushes trying to rip their throats out.

That had been the picture running through his mind for the last couple blocks of their walk, some crazed psycho tearin' into one of them, and him not being able to do anything to stop it. He was gonna be very happy when that image just deleted itself completely.

It hadn't happened yet.

The one thing that was helping that along though, besides the thinnin' out of the crowd . . . now he could keep a better eye on everyone . . . was the location of their booth. He'd been rather particular about finding a seat well away from the outside entrances, or bathroom areas, but still one where he could see anybody coming in, as soon as they got there. So this booth that Carol had snagged for them while he was picking up their food, really was one of the best seats in the house for his purposes.

Granted, it was a little bit noisy with the kids playing on the slides in the room just behind them, but that didn't bother him much. Only when they screamed, then he'd have to stop eatin' and look to make sure it was just normal little kid screaming, and not the, 'somebody's rippin' my mama's throat' out kind.

Speaking of, he winced at the sound of one of the little ones beginnin' to sob, and he started to twist around and look through one of the half foot sized circle windows again, that separated them from the playroom, but then Carol tapped his hand. His eyes immediately snapped over to hers, and she gave him one of those little smiles that he was growing so fond of.

"It's nothing," she said softly, "little boy fell down and bumped his knee, but his mama's there."

He nodded a bit at that, but didn't say anything. Then he reached over to pick up another one of his hash browns . . . and popped it into his mouth.

As he slowly chewed up that small chunk of greasy potato, which was starting to get a bit cold, he looked back at Carol again.

She was warming her hands on her coffee cup.

And she looked so worried there, bitin' her lip, staring down at her last uneaten bite of pancake, that he wished he could think of something to make her give him one of those little smiles again. But there was nothing comin' to mind. Because the only conversational piece really _on_ his mind, was the dead dog/human cannibal thing, and that was not really suitable mid-breakfast talk. Not that he _wanted_ to talk about it, but he knew he'd have to eventually.

Soon, really.

At first, outside, when he was REALLY freakin' out, he didn't want Carol to know anything about his thoughts on what he'd seen. But now that he'd had a little time to sit quiet, he realized it wasn't right to keep something like that from her. It was a safety issue. And she had a right to know about things to be wary of.

And dog eatin', human eatin', freaks, roaming around in the daytime, ranked pretty high on the things to be wary of, list.

It didn't help that her being so good about not asking him any of the questions he knew she had, was just making him feel worse about not giving her any of the answers he knew she wanted. But he couldn't talk about that horribleness in front of Sophia. And again, he most _DEFINITELY_ didn't want to talk until their breakfast had at least finished up, and maybe digested a little bit. After all, it was the first full meal they'd eaten in almost a day, and he didn't want to ruin it with a discussion of things that should never have to be discussed.

Sophia though . . . he glanced over at her still slowly making her way through the last of the oatmeal that Carol had ordered for her . . . she was sort of becoming the bigger issue here on this point. Because he wasn't quite sure how to have a conversation with her mama, when they really couldn't let her go anywhere without one of them right with her. So he was either gonna have to slide Carol over to a fairly adjacent table for a few minutes, or, well . . . he nodded a bit to himself as he swallowed . . . yeah, that is probably what he was gonna have to do.

What other option was there?

The question had just come to him, when he saw Sophia finally pushing the cardboard bowl away.

She was eyeing his last hash brown sitting in that flimsy container . . . so he pushed it over to her.

"Still hungry, darlin'?" He asked softly, watching as she reached out like a little timid squirrel, to take that tiny piece of food. And though he could tell from the quick look she shot her mother, that she was embarrassed to say yes, it was also clear from the way she was clutching that greasy little piece of potato . . . like she was terrified that somebody would take it from her . . . that she was.

Finally she nodded though, so he turned to slip open the buckle on his bag, before pulling out his wallet from where he'd tucked it down next to the phone book. Last night, after he got to his room . . . his first room . . . he'd transferred a few hundred of Merle's money into the wallet, so that way he wouldn't be pulling out THOUSANDS of dollars every time he needed to make a small purchase. Which meant that fortunately, now with the change from the hotel rooms last night, he did have some small bills.

It took only a second to pull out a twenty, and then buckle the bag back up again.

"Breakfast time's over now," he continued speaking across the table like there'd been no pause in their conversation, "but we can get somethin' else." He turning, squintin' a bit as he looked over to the menus way down in the front. Then he looked back at Sophia, swallowing down her last bite of potato.

His eyebrow inched up.

"You like nuggets?"

And she gave him a little smile.

"Uh huh."

"Okay then," he started to push himself out, "we'll get some nuggets. We can split 'em. I'm still a little hungry too."

Even though he'd been starvin' when they'd left the hotel, that dog thing had definitely put a damper on his appetite by the time they were able to actually get food. So he'd only ended up getting the order of hash browns and a sausage biscuit.

It wasn't really enough to cover over from two lost meals and a hell of a lotta running around.

Though as he started to step away from the table, something caught his attention out the window, and he got a thought.

Or really . . . he scrubbed his hand across his chin . . . two of them.

Either way he turned back around.

And seeing that Carol was looking up at him with a curious eyebrow, he blinked and pointed to her coffee cup.

"Did you want more? Or anything else?"

"Um," she bit her lip, "maybe a Diet Coke to take for the road?" Her nose wrinkled, "it's going to be hot when we go out."

"Yeah," his jaw twisted, "yeah it is. But I just had a thought on that." He turned and pointed out the big windows across from the set of doors from where they'd come in.

"Look out there," he jerked his head, "cross that light, it's a shopping plaza. And it looks like there's a K-Mart right there on the other end."

He looked back at her.

"We should make a stop there, get a few things to tide us over 'til tomorrow. Because you know," he shook his head, "I don't have anything with me. And with this heat, we should get some drinks to keep with us, and then whatever else you lost in your bag, we can pick up some replacements for that too."

Carol blinked.

"Oh," she started to shake her head, "no, Daryl I couldn't ask you to do that. I mean," she tipped her head, "yeah, I agree we should get some water and a few snacks, but," her lips twisted in a sad smile, "I don't need anything else, because that would feel like we were taking advantage of you being nice."

It was really sweet just how sweet he was. But she was still pushing down her pride just to watch him keep paying for their food and shelter this whole weekend. She knew that it was either that though, or she and Sophia would be wandering the streets, starving to death, while trying not to be raped and killed.

So clearly her pride could shove it when it came down to "emergency" situations.

But it was different, the idea of letting him pay for stuff that they'd _lost_. Stuff that they could technically live without. No.

No, that didn't sit right at all.

Though she could see from the look that Daryl was giving her, that he didn't particularly agree with her take on this point.

Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear.

"I have six thousand dollars of my brother's money, burnin' a hole in that bag across the bench," he whispered, "and Merle's about to be sent off for one to three years dependin' on a cranky judge and whether or not he gets good behavior after the fact. Which he never does. So," he pulled back a bit to look her in the eye, "I can definitely afford to buy you a few things that you might need to get by, once you're on your own again," his eyebrow quirked up, "okay?"

Feeling a warm spot hit her belly, which was partly fueled by the words that Daryl had said, and partly fueled from the warm, fluttery way that they'd hit her ear when he'd said them, Carol found herself giving him a little nod just before a faint smile touched her lips.

"Okay." She breathed back.

And though she would have expected then that he'd go on his way down to the counter and order those chicken nuggets that he was going to get, instead, his hand fell to her shoulder as he leaned over a bit to speak to Sophia.

"Sophia, you know how to count money?" He asked her, "like how to make change and do it right?"

Curious about where the question was going, Carol's brow wrinkled when she looked up first at Daryl . . . not looking at her . . . and then over to her daughter, who was giving the man who was ignoring her, an enthusiastic nod.

"Yeah," answered seriously, "we learned in school last year. And Mama gives me money sometimes to get candy from the machines."

"Okay then," Daryl slid the twenty dollar bill across the table, "it sounds like you're qualified to go make a nugget purchase down at the counter."

Clearly not expecting this turn of events, Sophia's eyes popped open wide with surprise.

"Me," her gaze shot down to the single twenty, like it was a gold brick, "get the food?" Her eyes snapped back up to his.

"All by _myself_?"

Hearing obvious disbelief in her daughter's voice that she would be tasked with such a big person job . . . and being somewhat of the same mindset herself . . . Carol was just about to cut in and say that Sophia wasn't old enough to do that yet, when she felt Daryl squeeze her shoulder.

When her eyes darted over to his, just a few inches away, he gave her a look, just before his attention . . . and his words . . . were directed back to her daughter.

"Yep," he gave her a firm nod, and a little smile, "you're gonna do it all by yourself. We'll be right here watchin' ya. It's just four little steps. You say you want a twenty piece nugget, and then you give them the money, make sure they give you the right change back, and then you say thank you when they give you the food. You can do it, no problem. See," he pointed back to the front, and the three registers he could see open, serving about eight people total, "hardly anyone's even in line, so it won't be scary."

His eyes flashed over to Carol's . . . and then immediately back to Sophia's.

"You'll be fine."

Those last three words, regardless of where Daryl was actually looking when he said them, Carol knew that they were directed probably more to her, than her daughter. For a second though, she was still so worried about letting her child do this simple little task all on her own.

Even with them right there watching her from across the room.

But then she started to realize how stupid that was. And how it was the old way of living. Always being scared of everything.

And everyone.

And she didn't want her daughter to live like that . . . like her . . . she wanted her to be strong. So Carol bit down on her cheek, and her fear. Then she took a breath, and turned to Sophia with a little smile.

She was aiming for it to be supportive.

"He's right honey, it's really easy. You'll be fine." She continued, while sliding sideways out of the booth, feeling Daryl's hand slipping from her shoulder and down to her back, as she did so. "And," she finished speaking as she stood up next to him, "we'll be right here watching you the whole time."

After Sophia stared at her for a minute, stared _into_ her for a minute, she took a breath, and then she slowly reached out to pick up the bill from where Daryl had pushed it in front of her.

"All right," she murmured, "if you're sure, Mama."

And she slid out.

It was weird, but Carol couldn't stop herself from touching her back before she walked away. Like she was sending her child off to war or something.

Something besides chicken nuggets.

"She'll be just fine, Carol," Daryl murmured with a pat to her back, "she's big enough, and we're right here if there's a problem."

Her eyes darted over to his then, so he quickly added. "Which there _won't_ be. But," he made a slow inhale, "I did have a second motive here besides just giving that girl's esteem a little bump," he let out the breath as he turned to watch Sophia.

"I needed to talk to you for a minute," he continued softly, "and I didn't want her to hear us."

Feeling her breath catch, Carol's eyes darted up to Daryl's profile, before they followed his gaze . . . watching her daughter work her way around to the front.

"About what you saw behind the fence?" She asked on a sharp breath.

God, she'd been waiting for the right time to ask him, but when they'd finally gotten inside the building, he'd just seemed so . . . well, she wasn't sure what it was. But whatever she'd seen on his face, she just couldn't press into him when he looked like that.

So thank God it seemed that he'd decided to bring it up himself.

"Yeah," Daryl winced, feeling his fingers pressing down a bit into Carol's back, "about what I saw behind the fence. And I have to talk quick before Sophia gets back, but you need to know," his breath caught as he shot her a look, "it's real bad, what I saw. Or more really," he blinked, "what I _realized_ , about what I saw."

Now with her eyes locked onto his . . . she couldn't have looked away if she wanted to . . . Carol swallowed down, hard.

"What was it that you saw?" She whispered back.

"It was a dog," Daryl's jaw clenched, "chewed up in the belly, torn up really."

He shot a quick look over to Sophia just gettin' down front, and then back to Carol still at his side.

"And based on the bites," he continued with a twist of his mouth, "I'd say it was a person that did it. Which is bad enough," he started breathing heavy, "but what really set my hair on edge, was that damn dog wasn't killed overnight, when all that other bad shit was happenin'." He gave a slow, tight, nod as he watched the growing horror spread across Carol's face.

"This was a _fresh_ kill." He finished softly, "most definitely done post sun up."

Seeing her jaw fall open, his own clenched.

"I know," he let out a harsh breath, "believe me, I know. I know what I said about sun up bein' safe from those tweakers or whatever the fuck they are, but, I was wrong." His eyes shot over to the bright, shiny world outside the big windows.

"They're attackin' in the daylight too," his voice started to fade, "and I don't know how many of them there are."

For a second there was a stunned silence between the two of them, and then Carol began to choke out a question.

"But wha . . .?"

It was cut off though, when she heard Daryl suddenly swear a, "God damn it," and her eyes snapped up to his, only to see that now he was looking across the restaurant again. Down to the lines in front of the registers.

Down to Sophia.

"I got it," he muttered with another pat to her back, "no worries."

Then he was off.

And Carol just stood there, staring in a stunned shock, but also confusion. Not only at what he'd just told her about the daytime attack on the dog . . . Jesus _Christ(!)_ . . . but also because as far as she could tell, it appeared that her daughter was fine. Certainly not in physical danger of any kind.

There was nobody even near her.

It looked like she was just standing there alone at the end of one of the lines, waiting for her turn.

But then Daryl popped out from behind one of the pillars that he'd had to cut around behind, and two seconds later he was sidling up next to Sophia. And though Carol still didn't know why he'd run down there, she knew that whatever it was that had caught his eye . . . whatever had bothered him for even that quick glance . . . he'd get it taken care of.

So with her daughter once more under Daryl Dixon's direct protection . . . which Carol was ever more grateful for given what she had just learned about this new nightmare that seemed to be expanding around them . . . she dropped back down onto the bench seat. Then she brought her hands up to her face, and closed her eyes.

 _What the HELL was going on?!_

/*/*/*/*

"Hey darlin'," Daryl stooped down next to Sophia to run his hand down her arm, "you okay?"

And he saw her bite down on her lip as her cheeks flushed a dark pink.

"Uh huh," she murmured back, her eyes darting up to the two boys standing a few feet away . . . specifically the taller one who had just given her a hard shove when the two of them had cut into the line. It was clear to Daryl from both Sophia's appearance, and the tone of her voice, that she was embarrassed about what had happened. As if it was her fault that teenagers were assholes. That probably woulda been what her daddy had said though, "it's your fault for getting in the way, Sophia."

The thought was enough for Daryl to slide his hand down to give her fingers a light squeeze.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "I saw what he did," he slowly stood up, "and I'll take care of it."

Then he tucked Sophia a bit behind him and to his right, as he called that dickhead out.

"Hey wannabe," he growled, "you there in the Phillies cap."

The kid froze. So apparently he wasn't a complete idiot, he obviously sensed there was 'danger' behind him.

Little did he know.

Daryl let go of Sophia's hand then, to take a step forward.

"I'm talkin' to you dumbass," he continued with a grinding of his teeth, "and starin' down at your cheap ass hightops, ain't gonna make me go away."

At that, the kid finally turned around.

White boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, stupid little sneerin' smirk on his face. The kind that made Daryl just want to punch that face in, until it was inside out.

And then he spoke.

"Whadda you want old man?"

"I _want_ ," Daryl's jaw clenched, "an apology from you for pushing this little girl, and then," he took another step forward, "I _want_ , you to get your ass outta line, and back where it was supposed to be before you jumped it."

"Pfft!" The kid threw up his hands, "Screw you! I don't know what the . . ."

But then Daryl was down, and in his face. He only had about two inches on him, but . . . he snarled as the kid fell back . . . it was enough.

"Listen to me you little _shit_ ," he hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn't scare Sophia, "I've had a fuckin' weekend you like you wouldn't believe. So you're gonna get your ass outta this line, or I'm gonna THROW your ass outta this line. And if you're thinkin' to yourself, this old man's full of shit, because he's not gonna touch a kid," Daryl jammed a finger up into his own face, "look into my eyes, and you think about what I'm up for doin' right now."

The last word had barely left his mouth, before the dipshit's friend was muttering, "ah shit." Then he grabbed his friend's arm.

"Come on Joey, it ain't worth it man. Let's just get outta here."

"Yeah Joey," Daryl repeated back flatly, his eyes narrowed down to slits that stayed locked onto that little d-bag's acne covered puss, "listen to your friend. Go. But before you do," he brought his arm up, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "apologize to her."

It took a second, one where Daryl could see the dipshit huffing and puffing to himself, tryin' to figure out what to do. Basically if he was gonna try and fight or not. But basic rule of life, not a lotta crossover between the type of person who shoves a little girl, and the type of person that has the balls to stay and take his licks when he gets called out on the shovin'.

So sure enough, after stomping his feet and clenchin' his fists tryin' to act like he was big and bad in that pathetic way that only a true coward can, he ended up just shooting Daryl a nasty look. Then his eyes snapped down to Sophia still standin' behind him.

"Sorry," he spit out, in her general direction. Of course though, he couldn't resist adding half under his breath, "that your dad's a jerk."

But then Sophia shocked the hell out of Daryl, when she immediately shot back with an angry little scowl.

"He's not my dad, and you're the jerk."

And he ended up just burstin' out laughing . . . it felt really good after all the tension he'd been under.

"Good girl," he chuckled as he reached back to ruffle her hair. Then he shot Sophia a wink, just before he turned around . . . and hip checked Dipshit Joey straight across the full front end of the restaurant.

He had it comin'.

Then Daryl heard Joey's friend let out another, "oh shit," as they all watched that boy fly a good twelve feet, before he finally smashed into someone head on. That person he smashed into, to Daryl's delight, was a very tall, very _muscular_ man, who had just turned around from the counter, carrying a tray of drinks.

The drinks hit the floor . . . and then Joey was squealing like a little bitch, as he was being picked up by the scruff of those little teeny baby chest hairs, stickin' outta the top of his wife beater.

"Next."

Hearing the cashier calling out behind him, Daryl looked away from Joey being shaken around like a maraca, and down to Sophia trying to cover over her giggle with the palm of her hand.

"That's you there miss," he pointed to the counter, "you're next."

Her eyes shot up to his, just before she gave him a shy smile. Then she clenched that, (likely very sweaty now), twenty in her hand, and marched _around_ Joey's friend . . . who immediately skeedaddled when he saw the look Daryl gave him . . . and up to the counter.

All right, maybe she didn't exactly 'march' . . . Daryl corrected to himself . . . but there was a bit of stride in her steps. A little confidence there maybe.

"Twenty nuggets please."

And . . . Daryl's eyes crinkled as he followed up behind her . . . yeah, there was a little more confidence in her voice now too.

Though, as he leaned back with his hip pressed against the counter, his eyes shifting between his little charge, and the rest of the room . . . which was again gettin' a might busier than he woulda liked . . . he noted that when the cashier asked Sophia if she wanted, "dipping sauce," (a question he hadn't prepared her for) that the girl once again got a look of full blown panic on her face.

Then her eyes shot up to his.

"Do I want dipping sauce Daryl?"

And she asked him the question with such a worried little eyebrow, that he both wanted to laugh, and give the poor kid a hug. Both at the same time.

But he did neither . . . he just shrugged.

"I don't know," he asked conversationally, "do ya? I know _I_ , do. I'd like some BBQ."

For a second she stared up at him, but then she bit down on her lip again.

"Mama likes the teriyaki," she muttered, almost more to herself.

So Daryl nodded.

"Well then you better get some of that one too," he said firmly. "And what about you, Sophia," he finally asked the question pointedly, "what do _you_ like?"

Her nose wrinkled.

"I like the honey mustard kind."

"Well," he gestured to the cashier still standin' there patiently, "tell her."

So Sophia took a deep breath, and then she looked up to put in her all important, dippin' sauce order.

"Can I please have three? The BBQ, the teriyaki and a honey mustard?"

Her little girl voice was back again . . . that flicker of real confidence was just passing through . . . but Daryl still thought she did pretty well. And that lady behind the counter, she was pretty cool about it too. Like she understood it was kind of a big deal for Sophia to put that order in herself. Because after that girl asked for the three sauces, she gave Sophia a smile and a nod, as she said, "you sure can. Good job, sugar," then she slid the change back across the counter.

Yeah . . . he nodded to himself as his arms came up to cross at his chest . . . she was an okay lady.

From there it took a minute or so for the nuggets to get pulled together. For his part, Daryl mostly spent that time just lookin' around the restaurant, trying to spot anybody that didn't quite look right. Now granted, given the neighborhood, there were a lot a people that didn't look quite right. But nobody seemed to be foamin' at the mouth or growlin' as they came tripping through the door, so he was pretty sure no "weird," or, "horrifyingly creepy," shit, was gonna happen in there. Yeah, nobody was gonna try and EAT anybody else, during the lunch rush. He rolled his eyes.

Small favors from JC's big daddy, that was for sure.

But whatever made the day go by without incident . . . he turned when he saw Sophia trying to pick up their tray . . . was good enough for him. And speakin' of good enough, he reached out to slip that wobblin' tray out of her hands. And when she gave him a look like 'I can do it,' he just gave her a little smile, and an "I got it," as he put his arm out to start her walking.

It was enough that she got through the orderin' part without having a panic attack, she didn't need to practice waitressing today too.

So with her movin' just ahead of him, they cut back around the room, and over to their booth on the far wall. And only twice on their little journey, did he have to put his hand out on Sophia's shoulder, to keep her from tripping over some idiot's bag. Then he just gave the bag a good kick out of the aisle, so it wouldn't be a problem for the next person either.

So with those slight distractions while they were walking, it wasn't until they'd actually arrived at their table, when Daryl saw that Carol seemed to be having a little problem.

She was just starin' down, with her hands over her face.

Though when they stopped there, she did lift her head and her hands fell. And seeing how her eyes were running kinda wild . . . a bit like they'd been in the bathroom the night before when they were listenin' to the shoot-up . . . Daryl realized that it really woulda been best, if the two of them had been able to finish up their talk before Sophia had returned.

That thought came to him, and it was weird, but Carol either heard it _mentally_ or just suddenly really PROCESSED that they were standing there lookin' at her. Because suddenly she blinked, and that wildness he'd seen . . . disappeared. She still didn't look good though. There was a tightness and worry there in her features, when she finally was able to give her daughter a little smile.

It bothered him to see her so unsettled.

"Ah," Carol let out a breath as looked between Sophia and Daryl, "you guys are back." Then her eyes shot over to the tray that Daryl was just putting down on the table.

"And you got the nuggets," she added, sorta matter a factly. Then her eyes shifted as she murmured a, "good. That's good."

And taking from _that_ , that Carol's ability to focus on the mundane right about then, was a bit off . . . probably somewhat like his had been right after he'd realized the shit he'd just told her about . . . Daryl decided an adjustment in seating arrangements might be in order. So he gave a little nudge to Sophia towards the empty side of the booth, and when she moved to sit down, he dropped down in next to Carol. Though she was still kinda in his way at that point . . . again, her focus was a little off . . . so he just gave a subtle nudge with his hip, to push the woman across the bench.

It only took a beat or so before she seemed to realize what he was doing.

Because she moved herself the rest of the way in then with a, "oh, right, sorry," which at least let him know that she was trying to get it together. But seein' the way that she moved to fold her hands in a little steeple under her chin, as she stared over at her daughter, he knew that there were definitely things on her mind. And he really wanted to give her the opportunity to get those things off.

As soon as was doable, that is.

But for the meantime though, once he'd gotten the nuggets and sauces opened and Sophia was happily dippin' away in the honey mustard packet, he leaned over to given Carol an apology.

"Sorry for takin' off," he murmured, "I had to run down and take care a somethin'."

Which was when quiet little Sophia decided to helpfully pipe up with, "Daryl knocked a kid across the room cuz he was mean to me."

That got Carol's attention.

"What?" She turned to look at him, the focus very CLEARLY back in her eyes then, "what did you do?"

And he immediately came back with a slight scowl.

"It was nothin', just bumped into him is all." His attention briefly flickered over and down to the front end . . . to the mess of drinks just now getting clean up.

Joey had been chased out by the manager a few minutes before.

"No big deal," he finished softly.

Even though he was looking away, for that moment, Daryl could feel Carol's eyes still on him. But then he looked back, and she looked down to the table.

She reached out and took a nugget.

"You got the teriyaki sauce," she murmured, with that little chunk of chicken clutched in her fingertips, hovering over the tray. And Daryl nodded.

"Mmm, yeah," he reached out to pick up his own nugget, "Sophia said that was the kind you liked."

"It is," her eyes crinkled as she looked across the table, "thank you baby."

And as she dipped down into that sauce, Daryl did the same with the BBQ one. And for a few minutes they were all quiet, just picking away at that little box of chicken, like a chicken would pick away at a box of feed.

Finally, with the box still about half full, Daryl had had enough to fill that remainin' hole in his belly. So he brought his nugget hand up to suck the grease off his fingers, while he pointed over the table with the free arm.

"Darlin'" he mumbled around his hand, "can you please hand me my bag?"

As Sophia hoisted the sack up . . . with the phone book, the thing probably weighed more than her backpack . . . he reached out to slip his hand underneath.

"Thanks," he murmured as he pulled it over to his own lap, while giving his other hand a final wipe on his leg.

"Howza bout," he looked over at Carol, "while Sophia finishes eatin', you and I grab that table right there," he pointed to one diagonally, only about five feet away from where they were sitting, "and pick out a hotel from the listings in here."

He finished the last word with a tap to the bag. And he could see how Carol's eyes immediately widened in understanding as she fumbled to pick up a napkin.

"Yeah," Carol let out a slow breath as she looked down to scrub a bit of teriyaki sauce off her palm, "yeah, we should do that."

Oh, thank God. She was trying to think of some way to get Daryl alone for a few minutes so they could talk about what he'd told her before he ran off.

This would be perfect.

"Honey," her eyes bounced across the table, "you stay here and eat up. We'll be just right there," she pointed over to the table Daryl had gestured to a second ago, "okay?"

Sophia nodded as she bit down on another nugget.

"'K, Mama," she mumbled back about her bite.

And seeing that her daughter was (fortunately) completely oblivious to the tension the two adults were feeling, Carol shot Daryl a quick look before they both started to slide out of the booth.

She ended up bumping into his leg.

"Pull your bag over," Daryl murmured as Carol stood up next to him, "that way nobody'll try and sit down with her."

Not that he was going to _ALLOW_ anybody to try and sit down with that little girl, but it would be nice if that could be just one thing they could avoid.

Him tossin' some other asshole across the room.

"Oh," Carol leaned back to snag her backpack off the floor from where it was tucked against the table leg, "good idea."

And once she had it laying out across the seat, she reached over to pat Sophia on the shoulder.

"We'll be just a few minutes baby," she murmured. Then she turned and walked over to take the seat across from Daryl.

He was just pulling in his chair.

And she could see him shooting another quick look over to Sophia, before he shot another one over to the door. There were more people starting to come in.

It would be lunchtime soon.

"So," she clenched her teeth as she sat down, "can we finish up our earlier conversation first?"

"Yep," his words were barely audible as he looked down to start digging into the bag, "what were you starting to ask me, before I ran off?"

"Um," she swallowed and leaned in to make sure nobody else would hear them talking about this terrible thing they shouldn't have to be talking about, "well, I was thinking more about it while you were gone, and I'm just," she scrubbed her hand across her forehead as her voice thickened, "I'm just really _scared_ out of my mind now, because if you think that those attacks can happen in the daytime too, I mean like," she looked around before adding on a hiss, "is it safe to go outside? How do we know how many people are," her lips pressed together, "affected?"

And she saw him look up with a shrug.

"I don't have no idea on how many could be affected." He started back in his soft drawl, "I can't believe it's as many as I've seen so far. I can't," his brow knitted together in a scowl, "I can't believe any of this shit that I've been seein' so far. It's all," he swallowed, "I don't know. None of it makes sense to me. But I think," he took a breath, "and mind you I don't _know_ any more than you do, but I _think_ , that as long as we stay off the street from now on, no more long walks, that we should be okay. I mean," he rolled his eyes, "people are gonna notice a crazy person if they're indoors. So we'll do the run to Kmart, and then, well," he tapped the book he'd slipped up onto the table, "we'll figure out a way to get to whatever hotel we pick."

For a second he paused as his lips twisted a bit.

"Be good if we could get a cab to pick us up, but," his gaze flickered towards the windows again, "I'm not sure if we can get one to come here."

The old man had been right, the neighborhood _was_ better . . . but still not great.

"Well," Carol looked around, following Daryl's gaze out to the sunny world beyond them, "it is more of a commercial area. I can see a lot of stores around. Plus it's mid-day." She looked back over to him, "I think we could get one here. Maybe even flag one down if we got lucky. So," she let out a slow exhale, "assuming that's set, now we just pick a place to go."

"Yeah," Daryl bit down on his lip as he flipped the book open and started whipping along to the H section, "I been thinkin' on that too. What we need is a chain of some kind. They're generally set up in better areas, plus, they're pretty much guaranteed to not have any hookers in 'em. Well," he rolled his eyes as the H section appeared, "at least not the 'dirty, standin' on the street corner' kind."

For a second he was quiet as his eyes quickly ran down the page of hotels and motels in the greater Atlanta metropolis. Then he saw something he liked, so he spun the book around for Carol to see it too.

He pointed.

"What about that one?" He tapped an ad in the top right hand corner that listed rooms starting at ninety, "Ramada's decent, right?"

"Mmm," Carol murmured with a slow nod, her eyes tracking along the listings, "yeah, I think so. And the rate's not terrible. Oh but," her eyes widened, "how about this one?" She looked up at him as her finger settled in on a different box, on the other side of the page.

"Comfort Inn." She said, "I've heard of them too, and here," she looked back down, "it looks like it's about fifteen dollars cheaper for a starting price."

"Do you have the map?" She continued as her eyes shifted back up to his, "so we can see where it is?"

"Oh yeah," he put his hand down on the page, his fingers brushing against hers as he flipped the book back, "shoved it in here somewhere."

A second later, he pulled it out from the back of the phone book.

"Okay," he breathed out, while shooting another look over to Sophia, before he flattened the map out on his side of the table, "here we go. What's the address?"

"Um," Carol's brow wrinkled as she leaned in to read the fine print on the already squintworthy typeset.

"Pollard Boulevard," she answered slowly, before adding with a note of confusion, "that sounds kind of familiar."

"That's cuz," Daryl quickly slid his finger across the shiny laminated surface, "it's over by the ball park. Yep," he let out a satisfied grunt while smacking his finger down, "there it is. Right across the street. That should work just fine. I know they got some crime in the neighborhood, but right there at the park," he looked up at Carol with a firm nod, "they'd have security and lots a lights around at night. Not that we'll be out then, but that's still good for general clientele purposes."

Even while he felt a bit of the knot let up on his stomach that they might have found a secure place to spend the night, Daryl saw Carol giving him a small, relieved, smile.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who felt that knot letting up.

"Okay," Carol let out a breath, "that sounds like the best plan then." Her eyes drifted over to Sophia by herself, polishing off the last of the nuggets, "we'll have someplace to sleep that won't have bullets flying around outside."

Then she looked back over at him.

"Do you think we need to call first?" Her eyes darted around, looking towards the bathrooms and the two exits, "if so, there are no pay phones in here." Her gaze bounced over towards the windows facing the shopping plaza they were going to visit.

"Or hardly anywhere else anymore for that matter," she continued, before looking back across the table. "I'm guessing you don't carry a cell phone?"

"Naw," Daryl shook his head, "not as a regular thing. I've had some cheap burners from time to time, if things were going on, but," he sneered a bit, "I just don't like 'em all that much. Besides," he let out a heavy breath, "you can still get by without one if you really want to, because most people don't need to be as accessible as they think they do. And actually," his voice lightened up as he made a gesture towards the windows, "they do still have pay phones around lotsa places. Especially in poorer neighborhoods, like this. We'll probably find one somewhere in that plaza next door. Though," his mouth twisted a bit as he thought back to something he'd seen on TV a few days earlier, "I think the Braves are playing away this weekend, so the hotel would probably be kind of empty anyway. And we wouldn't need to reserve a room that nobody else wants."

"All right," Carol nodded slowly, her eyes drifting over towards a family that had just walked in the side door . . . they were all wearing respiratory masks. "Then that should take care of that then," she finished on a whisper.

Then there was a brief pause as she stared over at those people apparently trying to ward off that flu, before another thought came flying up out of the back of her brain. Her jaw suddenly clenched.

She looked back down to the table.

"You know," she started faintly, with undisguised bitterness in her voice, "I hated my cell phone. I've had to carry one since the day after I got married, just so Ed would always be able to reach me. Some days he'd call once an hour, just for fun. And then when they came out with those location trackers for them, he got me a good phone," her jaw clenched, "an _expensive_ phone, worth more than the damn television, just so he could put one of those things on there. He had to make sure that both of us knew, I literally couldn't go _ANYWHERE_ , ever, without him knowing exactly where I was."

Knowing that she was allowing herself to fall too far down into the memories of that hellish rabbit hole, Carol took a breath to try and push her anger away. Across the table though, she realized that her anger was catching. Because Daryl had just growled out a,"motherfucker," and she found herself giving a slow nod of agreement.

"Yeah," she let out that breath she'd just taken, "that he was." Then her lip quirked up into a bit of a cold smile.

"The last thing I did before I left the house yesterday morning," she added with a tap of her fingers on the hard fiberglass, "was to smash that six hundred dollar phone into tiny pieces."

Hearing Daryl huff a bit at that, Carol looked over to see a little ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth.

"Where'd you leave the pieces?" He asked, as his eyes narrowed.

"In the middle of the kitchen table," she held up her left hand, "along with my wedding rings."

He snorted.

"I do like you Carol Pelletier," he murmured to himself with another huff as he ripped the Comfort Inn ad out from the phone book. And her expression softened.

"I like you too Daryl Dixon," her lip quirked up in a wry smile, "even if you do steal phone books from hotel rooms and shove little kids around big city McDonald's."

"Hey!" His eyes suddenly flashed at her as he slapped the phonebook shut with a nasty scowl, "that kid was fifteen _at least_ , and I had my REASONS for shoving that piece of shit!"

Seeing that she'd definitely, and unintentionally, hit a bad nerve there . . . pretty obvious given that Daryl had yelled loud enough to scare the crap out of the people at the table next to them . . . Carol's expression softened.

"I'm sure you did," she whispered, her hand sliding over the tabletop, so she could place a gentle pat on his forearm, "and I know it had something to do with Sophia." She tipped her head, "so thank you. And I'm sorry for joking about it," she pulled her hand away as she bit down on her lip, "I didn't mean to upset you."

It took a second before she saw his breathing begin to even out, after which he tipped his head towards the door.

"Daylight's burnin'," he muttered with a distracted head shake, "so we should get movin' before we lose any more of it."

"Right," she responded softly while moving to push her chair back, "yeah, we should go."

And she stood up, feeling a pit in her stomach knowing that somehow she'd hurt him, and she was unsure what to do to fix it. After all, she'd already apologized, and it wasn't like this was a man who came off like someone who would want to have his feelings put under a spotlight.

So . . . she let out a shallow breath . . . it might best if she just left it alone.

Leaving things alone seemed like the best approach for about twenty seconds. That was about the point where Carol noticed that Daryl hadn't actually made a move yet to even push his chair back. He was just sitting there, staring out the windows across the room.

Her hand came up to tug at her cross.

"Daryl?" Her fingers stilled on the shiny gold metal. "Didn't you want to leave?"

For a second there was no response from him at all. But then she saw him wince, as his hand clenched into a fist. There was pain there . . . in both actions. The internal kind.

The sight of it made her stomach hurt.

"That kid put his hands on her first," he finally murmured just before he tipped his head back, and his gaze snapped over to lock onto hers, "he shoved her, and even though he didn't hurt her . . . he upset her. Embarrassed her. And I did not care for that."

Understanding now why he was so upset about her joke, Carol felt her eyes immediately start to burn with hot tears. Partly they came from a feeling of shame at having belittled his actions and implying that he would hit a child, and partly they came from just a simple sadness.

Timing was very much not on their side.

And the pooling in her eyes became bad enough, that she had to look away for a second to try and blink those tears away.

When she looked back at him though, the sadness was still there, not only in her eyes . . . but in her voice as well.

"It's kind of too bad we're just crossing paths like this, huh?"

And he slowly stood up next to her then, the strap of his bag dangling from one hand, as the fingers on the other hand brushed over the table top. After a moment he looked down to the scuffed white flooring, and then back up to her face again.

"Yeah," he whispered back, "yeah it is." Then his gaze shifted and he reached out to scoop the phone book up from the table.

"Now let's go."

* * *

 _A/N 2: I was planning on also covering Kmart with this chapter (their first shopping trip) but then we had the new baby being born in real life thing, so I felt like I should just pick a stopping point, and accept that it was enough. So this is, "enough." :) And it was clearly more of a 'relationship building' chapter than a 'tension building' one. But these early days are really the last ones where they can have a few quiet minutes here or there before the world crumbling becomes the constant distraction._

 _A little bit of 'Hothead Daryl' here in the middle, and 'Defensive Because He's Starting To Care What Carol Thinks Of Him Daryl,' at the end. I wanted to ruffle his feathers a bit in both ways, so he wouldn't come off too squishy, in general. It's not like there's really a 'Relationship Daryl" to draw from in canon, but extrapolating to how he is with people he cares about (and how he expresses that affection), I think pre-Apocalypse Daryl would show that gentler side of himself more readily._

 _For the next one, I'm going to try to switch to a narrative for a bit to shuffle the timeline along. So I think we'll have one more chapter for their activities on Saturday, then jump to their Sunday. And Sunday you all know now, is a big day for them in that the truck and the beds are supposed to be ready so everybody can get on with their own lives. We shall see! :)_

 _Thanks again all you reviewers, followers, favoriters! Happy New Year!_


	7. Embrace The Suck

**Author's Note** : I have not been able to send any thank yous off the last week's reviews, because the FF system said those reviews didn't exist :) Even though I had the email confirmations that they did! But it seems that they have finally fixed that glitch now, like five days later, but I just wanted to say a special thanks here anyway in case you sent anything in that window. But again, everything seems normal now, so please don't hold back on the feedback if the urge strikes! :)

Now, to here, we're at Kmart. We're covering a bit of time in this chapter, so FYI, we will move back and forth from 'narrative' and 'live,' to keep shuffling.

A bit more domesticity here to start, then . . . other stuff ;)

* * *

 **Embrace The Suck**

Carol's steps began to slow when she saw the department that Daryl had just guided them into.

Electronics.

And realizing then exactly where he was trying to take her . . . she could spot the clear glass case coming up just ahead of them . . . her fingers clenched around the handle of the shopping cart. Because the clear glass case in question, the one that was causing her stress levels to rise, was filled with one thing that she just did not want to deal with on that day.

Cell phones.

But she should have expected that this was coming. Because Daryl had told her as much not fifteen minutes ago.

When they'd first walked into the store.

And when Daryl had seen how they had a real security guard standing watch at each door (Carol was guessing maybe they had a shoplifting problem), well, that was the first time that she'd seen him start to genuinely relax, since they'd been back at the hotel. So with him in much better spirits knowing somebody was around who was actually being _paid_ to keep an eye on things so he didn't have to, he'd suggested that before they did anything else, they make a full list of list of items that they wanted to pick up. That way their shopping should go a little faster.

Carol had agreed.

So after she'd borrowed a pen from the customer service lady, she'd started scribbling their list down on the back of the circular Daryl had collected for a "notepad." And that was when he had suggested, (very casually). . . right after asking her to make a note about him getting a deodorant and a clean shirt . . . that it might be good if she thought about getting a cheap, pre-paid phone, just to keep for emergencies. She'd stopped writing, mid-word, to shoot him a scowl.

One to remind him of her feelings on cell phones in general.

To which he had simply put his hands up as he drawled back, that he understood it was sensitive area, but it was just something he wanted her to, quote, "think on." Then he'd changed the subject again by tapping his finger down on the glossy circular paper and saying, "boxers. Need those too." So yeah, he had temporarily (and effectively) distracted her with a request for underwear.

And then thirty seconds later, they'd finished up the list, and started their rounds.

Still though, all the while, she'd been considering his pre-underwear request. And ten minutes and four aisles later, she continued to be of the same mindset that she had been that morning. Basically that she'd rather get her _hoo hah_ pierced, than start carrying around a cell phone again!

So with just a few paces left on their trek down to the case filled with those horrible devices, she turned to look over at Daryl walking next to her.

"I've thought about it, and," her lips pursed, "I really don't want to get another one."

Though Daryl had heard Carol just fine, still he paused for a second before he answered her. But that was because he was watchin' Sophia scamper ahead to go see some cartoon movie.

It was playin' on the display TVs covering the back wall.

Once he was satisfied though that she hadn't gone too far, (maybe fifteen paces), and that nobody was gonna pop up out of nowhere, (the electronics section had low shelves, and a wide open layout), he turned his attentions back to the woman at his side.

And seein' that tense look on her face, and hatin' that he was stressing her out so much, he reached over to put his hand on her shoulder.

Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I know you have a bad association with the things," he murmured soothingly, "and I know it's for a very good reason, and please know Carol, that I'm not tryin' to upset you, or tell you what to do."

Feeling her whole body tense up at that, he let out a soft breath.

"I'm just _tryin',"_ he continued with a rub of her shoulder, "to make a suggestion on something that I think would help keep you two safe. I know you're gonna be with the shelter people, but," his jaw clenched as his fingers stilled, "with all this crazy stuff going on, I just think it would be good plannin' to have a phone, in case you were out alone and something happened. Or even," he tried another argument . . . one which was all too horrifyingly possible, "just if your asshole husband showed up at the shelter, and you had to take Sophia and run. This way you could call 911, or a cab, or, well," he sucked in a breath as his eyes dropped to the floor, "me."

Carol stopped pushing the cart to turn and look over at Daryl . . . he was very particularly not looking back at her.

"I could call you if I was in trouble?" She whispered. And she saw his jaw clench just before he nodded.

"Yeah," his voice was soft when eyes shifted up from the floor, and down to the end of the aisle. To where Carol could see that Sophia was giggling to herself, watching Shrek and Donkey run around on the screen.

"Yeah," Daryl repeated as he let out another slow breath, "you could call me if you needed to."

It was a hard thing, makin' that offer. Because he didn't want it to sound like too much, given their limited days of acquaintance. But he was serious. He was growing very fond of the Pelletier ladies, and he was getting very, VERY worried about leavin' them there in the city, even if they were, technically, gonna be in a safe place with permanently locked doors. So he'd just feel a little better about going off, if he knew that Carol had some way of reachin' out for help, his or whoever's, if she needed to.

Though feeling her eyes on him now, he wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

But when he felt her hand touch his chest, he finally looked over. That was when he saw that her eyes were waterin'. For a moment they just looked at one another, but then one of those tears slipped over.

And just like he had earlier that morning . . . he reached out to catch it.

As he was brushing away the droplet from her skin, he saw her wince . . . and then those pretty blue eyes fell shut.

"I'll get the phone."

The words were let out on a sigh. And when she opened her eyes again, his crinkled a little bit.

"Thank you," he answered with a light pat to her cheek. And she gave him a little smile, though she didn't say anything. She just sniffled, and blinked the remaining moisture from her eyes.

"All right," her gaze shifted over to the case, "you want to tell me how these things work?"

"Ah," his hand fell down to rest on her shoulder again, "that part's easy. We'll get you the pre-paid burner, and a backup minute card, you can throw 'em in the bottom of your new bag," he made a gesture towards the new purse Carol had just picked out . . . she'd called it some kinda, 'hobo' thing, "and they'll be there if you ever need 'em. Actually," he looked up at the sign hanging off the phone case . . . they were currently buy one, get one half off. "That's a good deal. Maybe I'll get one too. Like I said before," he shook his head, "I only generally carry one if something's goin' on and, pff," he let out a huff, "shit's definitely goin' on right now."

So he pressed the button to get a clerk. And when the woman came over, he pointed to the cheapest model in the case with the three hundred minutes already loaded, and said that they'd like two of those, plus a hundred minute backup card for each. And fortunately it didn't take long for her to unlock the case, and pull out everything they wanted.

It wasn't even two minutes really, before the girl was walkin' them over to one of the registers.

And though they could have just checked out then with all their stuff, they really weren't done shopping yet . . . they hadn't gotten any of the food or clothes . . . so the only thing Daryl had her ring up besides the phone items, were the two bags they were gettin'. Carol's hobo one, and a new blue duffel that he was buying them. It had the regular short handles, plus a long adjustable one, so Carol could carry it around her shoulder if she needed to. But as he coulda predicted, she had tried to tell him that they didn't need the duffel, that they could make do. Once he'd heard though, how little they'd actually left the house with, that hadn't already been _stolen_ . . . two spare outfits each, a pair of pajamas each, underwear for five days, socks for three, a deodorant to share, Carol's prescription migraine medicine, and, well, that was pretty much it besides the sneakers on their feet . . . he'd been pretty much horrified. Yeah, _he_ lived on the cheap, but he was a man! Who lived on the edge of a damn forest! His " _maintenance_ ," was minimal!

And even _HE_ had more shit that they did!

So there was no way in hell that two women, even if one of 'em was pint sized, could get by with what they had with them. So the duffel was to fill up with whatever else she (or he), could think of, that they might need. Of course when he said that, Carol had still been worried about spending Merle's money.

Silly woman.

All Merle spent his money on, were strippers, booze and drugs. And occasionally new guns. So anything, literally _anything_ , that Daryl bought for the ladies, was puttin' that money to a MUCH higher purpose than it woulda been destined for otherwise. And so far, pre-cell phones, he'd taken them down to the drugstore part of the store, where he got his deodorant, and them a little portable first aid kit. Then Carol got some vitamins (basic for her, the gummy Flintstone kind for Sophia), before she grabbed a store brand Tylenol for adults, then one for little kids. Same deal with a pack of Pepto Bismol tablets, adult first, then kid medicine. After that, they'd moved over to the next aisle, and she got them a tube of minty toothpaste, and a pack of multi-colored toothbrushes. Carol got the three pack of the toothbrushes, because he needed one too. She'd said, and he'd agreed, that they might as well be economical where they could.

That was about all they could share though.

Because after that, it was a bottle of ninety-nine cent apple scented ladies shampoo, which smelled pretty damn good to Daryl, because he'd never smelled a woman with apple scented hair before.

He was thinkin' he'd been missing out.

It was also true he was a fan of the body soap she'd picked, Milk and Honey. _Literally_ , the woman was gonna smell like milk. And honey. What's not to like there? Then she got a little bottle of hand slash face cream, that he had also, to Carol's clear amusement, had to sniff before she put in the cart.

That one had smelled like roses.

He'd had a feeling then, that he was gonna be VERY distracted when she got out of the shower tonight.

But then those 'less than pure' (and really not helpful under the circumstances) thoughts of his, had been pushed aside when Carol had turned to ask him if it would be "all right," if Sophia got her _own_ shampoo and soap. Yeah, he'd just stared at her for that, until her lips started to twitch.

"I was being polite!" She finally snorted and he rolled his eyes. But then she'd sent Sophia over to the kid's shelf to pick out her own stuff. She'd come back with a shampoo and a body wash, that both, to _Daryl's_ amusement, came with a happy little smilin' strawberry on them. It was around then that he'd been reminded, between the cartoon vitamins and the smilin' fruit products, that it was kinda fun shopping for kid's stuff. A second after that though, he'd realized that day was probably the last time he was ever gonna shop for a little kid again. Because he didn't have any of his own, and he probably never would. And Carol and Sophia were off to the shelter tomorrow, while he headed on home . . . a home almost a hundred miles away from them.

That was when the little spark of warmth he'd been feelin', pretty much went outta the moment.

Fortunately, by that point, they were about done there anyway. They'd finished up with Carol getting some lady part products, that he tried to be polite and not stare at. That's when he'd decided to walk them down to get her the phone, which was just being boxed up in front of them. It had been that reminder that had come to him, that he was really leavin' them _ALONE_ in this fucked up city, that had set his mind to talk to her about it again. He just wanted 'em to be safe.

That was all.

Though he could see from the way that Carol was still lookin' at that phone with a bit of wariness, that she probably still wasn't all that keen about having it. And he understood that. He really did. But he was also pleased that at least she'd agreed for safety reasons, it was a good idea to keep it anyway. What he really wished though, was that he could get her some pepper spray too, but as he looked up and over the head of their little blonde cashier with the pink highlights, he wasn't quite sure they'd carry such a thing there.

Then he figured it couldn't hurt to ask.

And then whadda you know he found out? They _did_ carry it! It was in another locked case though, so they had to wait for the girl to finish ringin' them up on the first stuff, before she walked them around and over to the sportin' goods area.

Which was where they were now standin'.

And as Daryl looked down first at Carol, who had almost been raped on the sidewalk Friday night, and then at Sophia, who coulda been grabbed in the hotel lobby an hour later, he felt his stomach twist.

Ah Jesus.

Then he bit back a faint growl of anger at all the things that would be outta his control startin' tomorrow. After that, he looked over at the clerk/cashier, and asked for two canisters. Because he knew that after what could've happened to both of them, and what could _still_ happen in the future, better they each have one, than not.

It was as the girl was unlocking the case, that Daryl felt Carol's fingers press into his back. Then she was leaning up, and he felt her breast brush against his arm, just before she whispered in his ear.

"Thank you."

"S'nothing," he murmured back. And he heard her huff, just before she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His eyes darted down to hers, and he saw she was giving him a little smile. So he found his own lip twitch a bit before he shook it off. But she'd seen it though. That was clear from the way that she patted his back before she walked over to Sophia looking at the feathers on the fishin' lures.

"I like the pink one, Mama." Sophia murmured with a point at the back of the case. And Carol slid her arm around her daughter's shoulders as she leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"That is a pretty one, honey," she whispered back with a slow exhale, "and maybe someday after we get settled, we can try to go fishing like Papaw used to take us when you were little."

For a few seconds Daryl stared over at the two of them, listenin' in unashamedly, while they whispered about . . . what he was guessin' based on the fondness in Carol's tone . . . had been her father, not Ed's. And he was also guessin', given the sadness he could hear now too, that her daddy passed away at some point since those early fishing trips with Sophia.

He bit his lip.

But then, hearing somebody clearing their throat, Daryl turned to see their little punk clerk, now lookin' up at him with an expectant face.

She was holdin' the two pepper spray canisters in her hand.

"Is that all, sir?"

The question was straight forward enough. But still, he found himself shootin' another look over at the ladies, before his jaw clenched.

"Yeah," he whispered back, while swallowing over the lump in his throat, "that's all."

/*/*/*/*/

From the Sporting Goods department, Daryl moved them on to gettin' some new clothes. It wasn't until after they got over to that area though, that Carol tried to tell him that she and Sophia would be fine with just extra socks, and a spare pair of pajamas each. But as they were standin' at the cross section between men's and ladies underwear, with him holding his new three pack of boxers in his hand, he pointed out to her that seasons change, and that tanks and short pants, were only gonna last them so long.

Even in Georgia.

It took a second from there where she stared up at him, sorta blank. But then that point he'd just made, seemed to really kind of sink in for Carol. That she and Sophia literally only had the clothes they were wearin', and the ones they were carryin' on their backs.

That was it.

And Daryl felt a pang of guilt then, because it was like Carol got this look on her face . . . sorta like somebody kicked her. And he realized that somebody . . . was him. So he dropped his package into the cart, and reached over to take her hand.

"But I'm sure by the time it gets really cold," he started to try and soothe over the unintentional injury he'd caused her, "that you'll have a job and some money comin' in to get your own stuff again. But in the meantime," he gave her fingers a little squeeze, "why don't you just get a few things for cooler weather too. Then you'll be covered into the fall."

"Yeah," Carol let out a heavy sigh, "I guess that would be the smart thing to do." Then she pulled her hand out of his . . . and he curled his fingers back.

She reached for the cart again.

"We'll just be a couple minutes," she said to him over her shoulder, "so if you want to get your shirt, I'll meet you back here in a few."

"Uh," feeling a bit of apprehension about sending them off alone . . . rent-a-cops on the door didn't mean there couldn't still be _non_ face eatin' creeps and weirdos walking around in there, after all, clearly the rent a cops were _there_ for a reason to _START_ . . . Daryl stammered a bit as he gave a quick look over Sophia's head. Off into the clothes racks.

Off into the section of the department that she and Carol would be heading into by themselves.

But seeing that there were only women, and a couple of little kids shoppin' in there, he nodded.

"All right," he clicked his tongue, "just keep your eyes open for weirdos, and I'll see you in a bit."

Then he went off in one direction, and Carol and Sophia and the cart . . . went off in the other.

And even with the little walk he needed to take over to the men's section, it only took Daryl about four or five minutes to go find himself a clean shirt and some new light brown Dickies. It hadn't been in his plans to get pants too, but after sweatin' his ass off running around the city in those same jeans for now two days straight, he decided that he really didn't want to go for a third.

Those Levis'd be standin' up on their own by morning.

So with his new "outfit" slung over his shoulder . . . brown pants and sleeveless brown shirt, always in style . . . Daryl started headin' back towards the meeting spot that he and Carol had agreed upon. Given that she had to grab things for both her and Sophia both, he was expectin' that she was gonna be a few more minutes, and as such, he was considerin' whether or not he should just go track her down. But by the time he was actually walkin' up on that same cross aisle where they'd parted, he could see that she was already pushing the cart his way.

He huffed a bit at that.

Because really, as far as shopping with a woman went . . . and as far as he could remember, this was probably the first time he'd ever done so . . . he wasn't quite sure what men were always bitchin' about. They'd had like five different departments on their list, they'd already hit four of them, and they were still probably barely at thirty plus minutes in the store. But Carol, as he was quickly learnin', was very much a 'let's get in, get what we need, and get outta here,' kinda gal, so they were making real good time. Though good time or not, he was still feelin' guilty for making her feel bad about her circumstances. So there was a bit of a wary smile on his lips when he stepped out into the aisle, to head her off before she came too far out of her way.

They still needed to get the snacks in the other direction.

"You find everything you wanted?" He asked, as she walked up. And he was pleased to see, that she actually gave him a little smile when she stopped in front of him.

"Yeah," her eyes crinkled a bit as she made a gesture towards the cart where he could some cargo pants and long sleeve tees layin' over the top, "we got enough to tide us over. An extra summer outfit each, and you were right," she gave his arm a rub, "it is obviously better to have a couple practical all weather items, than to look like idiots who don't have the sense to own a pair of long pants. And also," she reached in and snagged up a couple of sweatery type items, "I got us each a cardigan so we can layer up. I think uh," she gave a firm nod while dropping the clothes back in the bin, "well, I think we'll be good now."

"I agree," Daryl murmured back as he eyed the seven or eight items that she'd picked up while she'd been away, "you did good."

It was odd, or maybe it was just plain sad . . . he couldn't really tell the difference here . . . but he couldn't help but notice that all of the clothes Carol picked out for herself, were in muted and faded colors. Beige and grey and, a blue that looked kinda like slate. But then he compared that with the lighter pinks and yellows and whites that she got for Sophia, and he felt a pang in his gut. It was like she wanted her daughter to look bright and cheerful out in the world, but Carol dressed herself to fade into the background.

To disappear.

It was a thought that bothered him, and as they turned to start walkin' down towards the grocery section of the store . . . their last stop . . . he tried to push it out of his mind. Though that's when he noticed something in the cart that actually did please him to see. It was Carol's new sweater, the grey one that she'd held up in front of him . . . but he'd only seen it as it was scrunched up behind Sophia's yellow one. But now he could see the front of Carol's. The little buttons.

They were pearls.

Now given that the sweater only cost sixteen dollars . . . the tag was flappin' along right there . . . he had to imagine that that they were not _real_ pearls, but they were still pretty. And he liked that Carol had bought at least one pretty thing for herself.

She deserved that.

And as they walked along, cutting through the other shoppers, he found his hand falling to her back, just above where her shirt started to dip down.

He wanted to touch her skin.

And though he knew that Carol didn't mind him touchin' her, it was the first time really that he'd done that for no good reason other than just because he wanted to. He wanted to _feel_ her there, walkin' next to him. But he was giving that desire no deeper thought than the surface one. Because to think on it any more than that, with them leavin' tomorrow, would probably end up just givin' him a bad week.

Though, as he felt Carol's warm flesh under his palm while he watched Sophia happily skippin' along ahead of the cart, he was pretty positive he was gonna have a bad week anyway. And then Sophia giggled at something Carol said, and his teeth ground together.

 _Yeah_ . . . he shook his head . . . _this week was gonna suck._

/*/*/*/*/

"What happened?"

Hearing Carol's worried whisper in his ear, Daryl quickly shook his head.

"Don't know yet, but," his jaw clenched as he looked around at all the customers and store employees rushin' around talking to each other, and lookin' at their phones, "everybody seems pretty stressed."

And whatever it was that was causing the stress, it musta just happened, because everyone they'd walked past when they were headin' down to the grocery area, had seemed to be actin' normal. But they were only in there maybe five minutes, cuttin' through just two short aisles to pick up their drinks and snacks . . . wasn't a whole big food selection in K-Mart . . . before they noticed a lot of people's phones started ringing. It was enough for Daryl and Carol to shoot each other a look, but at the time he'd just figured that was just them both being a bit on edge.

Apparently not though.

Because now that they'd come out to the front end of the store, approachin' the registers, it was clear that something was up. And given the 'something' that Daryl already KNEW was up, he was gettin' a real unpleasant feeling about whatever this was, right now.

The feeling was actually unpleasant _enough_ , that he gave a look towards the doors, just to make sure there weren't like a bunch of those tweakers out there, attacking people . . . crazy as that would be . . . but he didn't see anything through the doors except the parking lot full of hot cars, shinin' in the sun.

But somebody else now . . . his brow wrinkled . . . had just stopped walkin' forward. The guy was just standing there outside on the sidewalk, right in front of the doors, looking at his damn phone.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Daryl muttered to himself, just before his attention shifted back to what was happenin' inside the store.

And spotting somebody headin' their way, he put his hand up to catch that younger lady's attention.

It didn't work.

Because first she was rushin' up . . . and then she was rushin' by . . . still tryin' to punch something into her phone. All he got a whiff of was her perfume.

It smelled like flowers.

"Ma'am!" he called after her. "What's happened?!"

"Another plane crashed!" She yelled over her shoulder, "they're even happening here now!"

Feeling his stomach drop like a lead brick, Daryl's eyes snapped down to Carol's. She looked about as stunned at that woman's words, as he imagined he himself did.

"What did she mean _another_ plane crashed?!" Carol hissed up at him, "Like 9/11 crashed?!"

"Don't know," he answered tightly, his eyes bouncing around the brightly lit area, trying to figure out their best odds on gettin' a straight story.

Then he locked onto something.

"There," he pointed to a register on the end, further down towards the garden center, "let's go there," he started guiding Carol and Sophia along, "everyone's all distracted, so that register's wide open. We can ask the cashier what's up."

It was a younger Hispanic girl, maybe college age, with long curly hair and a pretty face, that he could see even from the slight distance, was rollin' her finger really fast along the face of her phone. So he figured that she had to be readin' something. And it was most likely, whatever everybody else was readin' too.

Though when they actually reached the conveyer belt at the end of her line, she immediately shoved that phone into her pocket.

"You folks ready to check out?" She asked with a tight, distracted, smile.

And Daryl nodded.

"Uh yeah," he reached in to begin quickly unloading the top of the cart . . . Carol started doing the same from other end, "we are, but we're also wonderin' if you know what's going on." He paused to make a gesture behind him, "a woman said somethin' bout, plane crashes?"

"Oh yeah," the cashier nodded furiously as she moved to start running their items over the scanner, "two more today, and one of them was here in the States, up in New York."

"Whoa," Daryl stopped unloading to shoot a quick look over to Carol, who seemed to have the same amount of knowledge on this topic that he did . . . which was none, she was blank faced . . . before his eyes bounced onto the cashier again.

"Two _more_ planes crashed _?_ " He asked with a confused squint. "When were the others?"

Which was when the girl stopped what _she_ was doin', to look over at him like he'd lost his damn mind. And after the stuff he'd seen and heard the last twenty-four hours, he was startin' to think maybe he had.

"Yesterday," She answered him after a moment, though with a bit of a halting tone, as though he was a dimwitted person. "You, you didn't hear?"

Realizing now that there was a WHOLE big huge chunk of stuff goin' on that they hadn't heard about, Daryl slowly shook his head.

"No," he directed his words to the girl, while staring over at Carol . . . who was gapin' back at him with her mouth open, and eyes now as big as saucers, "we haven't seen any news this weekend." He looked over to the girl again.

"What happened yesterday?"

"Oh my _God!_ " She let out on a hiss, "you guys don't know?! Three different countries reported passenger planes go down! It was um," she scowled, "oh God where were they?"

Then she looked up at the ceiling, squinchin' her face like she was trying to remember.

"Hong Kong to Vancouver," she started countin' on her fingers, "that was the first one, then Sydney to Dubai, and um, oh, what was the last one?" She tapped one of her glossy green fingernails on the belt. "Oh," her eyes snapped back to his, "Tokyo to Rio. That one," she swallowed, "the Japanese one, it just disappeared somewhere over the ocean. But the other two, they crashed not too long before they were supposed to land. It was lucky though, they both fell in kind of empty areas. They think, I mean," she tipped her head, "they're still cleaning stuff up, but they think, only a couple people on the ground got killed when they went down."

For a moment Daryl just stood there, watching the six pack of Kmart brand water bouncing along the conveyer belt, as he tried to process everything that he'd just heard. It was too much though. So it wasn't really all sinkin' in beyond the phrase, "THAT'S SOME FUCKED UP, SHIT!" flashing in big bright letters on his brain. Finally he just shook his head a bit to refocus.

Then he asked another question.

"And today," he reached into the cart and picked up Sophia's strawberry shampoo, "you said there were two more? One here?"

"Yeah," their cashier huffed out a breath as she started bagging the stuff that she'd already rung up . . . the pile was gettin' pretty big, "one crashed in India just after it took off." She shook out Carol's sweater to start folding it, "it skidded off the runway. That was overnight. And then uh, the one in um, New York, that happened just a little while ago."

Noting how the girl's expression, and body language, changed when she mentioned New York again, Daryl had a feeling there was something special about that flight.

And not just that it was in the States.

"Where in New York did it crash?" He asked quietly, feeling a sense of dread risin' up. And that was when the cashier's eyes started to water.

"Times Square," she whispered as she went back to scanning the last few items, "it happened about a half hour ago now."

Hearing Carol's gasp of, "oh my God," the cashier blinked and nodded, "yeah, they say it's just awful. Everything's on fire for blocks. And they don't know what caused it, but of course people are saying it's al Qaeda again," her lips pursed, "that they're poisoning the air on the planes somehow, and making people sick."

" _Sick_ ," Daryl repeated back with a sharper tone than he'd intended, "sick how?"

"Don't know," the girl shook her head, "news didn't say, or they don't know either. Just something about the pilots radioing in that people were sick. And then," she shrugged, "nothing. That was the report that came from two of them, though. The one heading for Canada, and the one that just disappeared over the ocean."

It was then that Daryl felt someone grab his fingers, and his eyes snapped down to see Sophia starin' at the shiny floor. And he could immediately tell from her breathin' . . . much too fast, like a locomotive . . . that she was on the verge of one of those panic attacks. Like the kind she had at the hotel.

When everything went to hell.

And hating that she was havin' to go through this again already, and hating himself even _more_ for not taking better care to make sure that she didn't HAVE to go through this again, he ground his teeth together. Then he remembered his feelings didn't mean jack right about then, so he quickly murmured a, "Carol." And when her eyes darted up to his, he tipped his head down.

Her eyes followed.

"Oh baby," Carol let out on a sigh as she go of the box of toothpaste she was holding . . . it bounced onto the belt . . . to stoop down and pull her daughter into her arms.

"It's all right, honey," she whispered in Sophia's ear, "nothing scary's happening here. We're fine." She rubbed her hand slowly up and down her back, "we're just talking about things on the news, that's all. Things far away."

"That's right darlin'," Daryl added with a murmur, while brushing the fingers of his right hand . . . Sophia was still clutching his left one . . . through that blonde hair, "what your mama said. We're just fine here, no problems. So you just need to do deep breaths," his hand settled down lightly, on the back of her neck, "in and out, and you'll feel better."

"Is she okay?" The cashier asked with a worried bite of her pierced lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset her."

"No, no," he answered softly, "she's okay. She just needs a minute is all."

So while the girl slowly finished baggin' up their stuff, he and Carol stood there, and gave that girl the minute she needed. It was all they could do really, until her breathing started to even out again. That's when Daryl gave those little fingers a light shake.

"Feelin' better, darlin'?"

And he saw her lift her head up from Carol's shoulder.

"Uh huh," she let out a slow breath before her mouth twisted, "I'm sorry."

"Come on now," he shook his head as he gave those little fingers another shake, "don't be silly. Nothin' for you to be sorry about."

That was when Carol leaned back to press a kiss on Sophia's forehead.

"Never be sorry you got scared, baby," she murmured while pulling away, "your daddy was lying when he told you that nonsense."

And as she came back to her feet, she pulled Sophia's head against her chest.

She gave her another squeeze.

"I think we're good now," she whispered to Daryl even as she ran her hand along her daughter's back, "right, honey?" She directed the question down to Sophia. "You're okay?"

And Sophia lifted her head to give a little nod.

"Uh huh," she took a deep breath, "I'm okay."

"All right then," Daryl let out a heavy puff of air as he looked down into the cart . . . all that was left to ring up, were Carol's tampons.

They were in the corner behind the new duffel they'd already bought.

"This is the last of it," he directed his words over to the cashier, while he reached in to get the blue box, "we paid for the phones and bags down back. Hold on," he added, while dropping the tampons onto the belt, "I got the receipt here."

So he fumbled around in his jeans pocket, as the girl rang up the last of their purchases . . . the tampons, the toothpaste, and the bottles of vitamins that had been sittin' on the belt since Sophia's panic attack began. Then the girl checked the little slip of paper he held up in front of her.

"Okay," she gave him a nod before turning back to the register readout, "and this is uh," she hit the total, "$167.24."

And so as Carol, and a much calmer Sophia, rolled the cart down to the bagging area to begin loadin' things up, Daryl dug his wallet out.

A minute later, he had his change, and a three inch long receipt to add to the much shorter one, he already had jammed back into his left hand pocket.

It wasn't until they were walking away from the register, just after he'd thanked the cashier for the information she'd given them . . . it wasn't her fault it was all terrible information . . . that Carol gave him a look. One which he knew meant that as much as they both might have wanted to talk what they'd just heard, there would be no more of that topic, in front of Sophia. And that was a point where he agreed _whole_ heartedly. Christ, if they weren't careful . . . he scowled to himself . . . that poor little girl was gonna have a nervous breakdown before the weekend was out.

And that was the last thing he wanted to happen.

So to try and reassure Carol that he was on it, he gave her a little nod and a squeeze on the shoulder. Then he tried to redirect her attention, by pointing down to an empty register nearer to the exit they were leavin' by.

"Let's stop there and shift the plastic bags into the duffel," he said, "and if it doesn't all fit," his eyebrow inched up, as he looked down, "maybe you can put a couple smaller things in your new purse, and carry that?"

His question was really more of the rhetorical kind than anything else . . . that was about the only way they were gettin' their crap out of the store . . . so he saw Carol quickly nod as she let out a breath.

"Sounds good," she agreed, "I think we'll be fine either way. I mean we did get a lot of things, but it's mostly little stuff, and clothes. It should all jam up pretty well."

"Yeah, that was my thought too," Daryl muttered back. Then, as they walked up to the empty bagging area he'd gestured to a moment before, he raised his arm up, and pointed towards the door.

"I'm just gonna go show the guard our receipts, so he won't think we're stealin' nothing."

And he saw Carol give him another nod, and then a little smile.

"We'll start moving the bags."

Carol watched Daryl walk off, before she turned to her daughter still standing by her side. That's when she realized that Sophia was also watching Daryl.

Her eyes didn't leave him once . . . even when her mother touched her arm.

And feeling a fresh ache in her chest, Carol's gaze shifted back to this sweet, kind, man, who her poor abused daughter was already becoming so attached to. Then her stomach twisted as she pictured how the goodbyes were going to go tomorrow, when Daryl dropped them off at the shelter, and then drove off and left them there.

 _Yeah_ . . . she blinked away the moisture in her eyes . . . _Sunday was going to be a bad day._

/*/*/*/*/

"COME ON! GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU MORONS!"

Carol winced at the sound of the cab horn blaring, as their dreadlocked driver screamed out the open window, in unison with the horn. Though, given that was at least the third time this same thing had happened since they'd been picked up about forty minutes earlier . . . the simultaneous screaming and honking, that is . . . she should have been used to both sounds by then.

And this had all happened after a pickup about a half of a block up from the Kmart.

Yeah, she'd been right about the area, there were cabs there. They'd just had to walk across the plaza parking lot, and over to the corner. They'd actually found a stand right there in front of one of those international grocery stores.

Which was _really_ lucky.

Though . . . she flinched as the row of cars in front of them suddenly all slammed on their brakes again . . . their luck in actually _getting_ anywhere since then, had been completely hit or miss. Traffic all across the city had been terrible. And it wasn't just that there was a lot of it . . . which there was . . . it was that some of drivers were just, well, it was like they were drunk. REALLY, drunk. Weaving around the road, and crossing lanes without signaling, drunk. They were just a menace. And it was only the middle of the afternoon, so even for a Saturday, Carol really couldn't believe _that_ many people were getting _THAT_ smashed, _that_ early in the day. So she had to figure there was some kind of televised sporting event had just ended, and the bars were emptying out. Because that was usually why people (who was she kidding? _Men_ ) were driving drunk in the middle of a Saturday.

Sports.

She shot a scowl up to the stopped traffic ahead, where it looked like (from the two people climbing out of their Corolla – the rear vehicle) that there had now just been a fender bender because of one of those drunk men.

Great.

"How much further, man?"

Hearing Daryl's gruff inquiry to the driver as he leaned forward, Carol was about to scoot over towards Sophia, to get out of his way. But then she felt his hand fall onto her knee, when his other arm came up to drape over the front seat. And that's when she realized that he didn't seem to care much (or perhaps even notice), that she was in his way.

So she decided to stay put.

And with Daryl very much in her space now, Carol saw the driver shrug.

"Eh," he grunted, "with all these drunken idiots out today, who knows? _Without_ them screwing things up," he slammed down on the horn again, "should just be another ten, twelve minutes." Then he turned a bit to look Daryl in the eye.

He had to push back a dread to see him.

"Why," another of the long, floppy, dreads slipped down . . . Carol wished that she had an elastic to give him, "ya'll thinking about getting out to walk?"

"No," Daryl immediately shook his head as Carol felt his fingertips press into her leg, "no, we don't wanna walk. It's uh, too hot for the little one." He leaned back against the seat with a sigh.

"It's not safe."

His last words, Carol knew, had nothing at all to do with the weather. But they were true all the same. It wasn't safe to be out walking. And as she saw Daryl turn to look out the open window . . . all the windows were open, the AC was broken . . . she realized that his hand was still on her knee.

He was tapping his fingers on it, in sort of an absentminded rhythm.

But then he seemed to realize what he was doing, because suddenly he stiffened up, just before he jerked his whole arm away with a grunted, "sorry."

The apology was sincere, she knew . . . but he didn't actually look in her direction when he said it.

"It's okay," she answered back with a murmur while deliberately opting to shift a bit into his side. And she did that just so he'd know . . . it was fine. She was okay with him touching her.

It didn't bother her at all.

In fact, she liked it. And that might seem odd to an outsider, given how short a time that she'd really known the man. But there were so many odd things that had happened over the last two days of Carol's life, that how Daryl was so free in his touching of her, didn't really make the list of those oddities. Because it wasn't as though he did it in a sexual, or aggressive, way.

Or in any way that made her uncomfortable.

No, it was quite the opposite. With Daryl's hands on her . . . she felt safe. She'd never felt safe with a man before. Obviously never with Ed, but even before that, she'd never really attracted the type of men who had that 'protective' vibe in them.

And Daryl gave that off in spades.

Though she'd suppose that most people looking at him, being a little scruffy and a whole lot of foul mouthed and cranky, would think he should be carrying one of those _'forget the dog, beware of owner'_ signs. But that was their loss. Because she'd say that from what she'd learned of him so far . . . under circumstances which actually showed a test of true and genuine character . . . he was a fine man, with a good heart.

And she didn't want to hurt it.

Which was why she was relieved, when she felt him finally relax next to her. And then he dropped his hand down from his chest . . . where it had flown to when it left her knee . . . and onto his thigh. He didn't move to touch her directly again . . . she knew that ship had sailed for the moment . . . but with where his hand was now, she could feel the warmth of his pinky finger brushing against her leg.

That was pretty good too.

And things were quiet for a minute or so. Well, not quiet really. There were the normal city noises going on around them. Pedestrians walking and talking, going by the windows. Traffic stopping and going, on the opposite side of the street. And then the people in the cars on their side, yelling and honking about that little accident that still hadn't gotten itself out of the way.

It seemed to be taking awhile to just pull those two cars off to the side.

After another few seconds passed where Carol felt the sweat starting to run down from her neck into her cleavage . . . it had just been a little muggy before when they were moving, but it was much hotter sitting still in the sun . . . she thought about asking the driver to turn the radio on, just to have some kind of distraction from the heat. But then she remembered that Daryl had asked him to turn it off so it wouldn't upset Sophia. Because all everyone was talking about was the planes crashing.

And of course how half of midtown Manhattan was on fire.

And that was just horrible. But it was horrible in a bubble. Because Carol knew that all of that talking, it was just speculation. Nobody _knew_ anything. The investigations of all those crashes, all around the world, had barely begun. So nobody was probably _going_ to know anything, at least nothing for certain, for a few days at least.

Perhaps even longer.

So she didn't really see the point in rubbernecking on tragedies happening so far away.

Not when they had enough serious crap on their plates, locally.

Though at least right now . . . she reached up to wipe away the moisture on her neck with the back of her hand . . . the crap they were dealing with, was of a very minor nature.

This damn traffic backup.

But after another full minute had passed when they still hadn't moved an inch, Carol felt Daryl starting to get antsy next to her. His hands were clenching up, and his breathing was getting a little huffy. And wanting to head off an eruption . . . she was starting to sense now the types of things that set him off, wasted time was one of them . . . she turned, and was about to whisper to him about maybe asking the cabbie to find an alternate route. But that was when, out the open window, on the sidewalk not fifteen feet away. . . Carol saw a sudden movement.

The kind that made her whole body tense up.

It was someone running. A young man . . . and then there was a teenage girl. Then a middle aged woman.

An older man.

Then a younger one.

They were all coming from up ahead, from up to where the cars had stopped. From where that fender bender had been.

The one with the Corolla.

But now, when she looked back out the front window . . . her breath caught . . . all she could see up there was a crowd.

And that was when the screaming started.

And feeling a jolt to her system . . . the running had been bad enough, by her experiences that weekend, running meant bad things, but screaming meant much worse ones . . . Carol instinctively scrambled to catch Sophia's hand.

As she clutched it in hers, she murmured a breathless, "it's okay, baby," that she wasn't sure was a complete lie or not. Maybe it was. But she still needed to say it.

Because that's what mamas did.

And then she turned back to see that Daryl had his head and upper body now half out the window, trying to see what was going on. And then she heard him suck in a breath, and an, "oh shit!" And that jolt to Carol's system, became a full blown panic.

He twisted himself head back inside, yelling, "LOCK THE DOORS AND CLOSE THE WINDOWS! NOW!" up to the driver.

To his credit, the driver seemed to get that Daryl wasn't joking around there . . . the screaming and running probably helped with his credibility . . . so he quickly moved to lock up.

"WHAT'D YOU SEE, MAN?!" He yelled over his shoulder, as Carol heard the door locks snap.

But Daryl didn't answer, even as the windows started rolling up. Carol just saw him shoot her a quick, wild, look . . . one that confirmed the worst fears she was having – it was happening again . . . before his eyes flashed past her.

Over to Sophia.

"Darlin' close your eyes." He hissed while reaching out to pat her daughter's arm, "keep 'em shut, and keep lookin' down, 'til your mama or I say you can stop."

After a day of Daryl keeping her safe, Carol saw that Sophia didn't even hesitate now in immediately following his orders. She just nodded a quick, frightened, "okay," right before her eyes snapped shut, and she looked down towards the floor.

That was when Daryl directed his attention back to the driver.

"Brother, you gotta get us OUTTA here!" He yelled desperately over the seat, "because there's some _bad_ shit happen' up ahead, and it is gonna be HERE in a minute!"

The last word has barely left Daryl's mouth, when Carol saw more people racing past them, down the sidewalk. A lot of them were screaming things like, "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" over and over. Or, "JESUS CHRIST SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!"

Some of them now were in torn suits and shirts. Some of them were bleeding from their arms or heads. And oh god . . . her heart stopped . . . there was a lady with a baby carriage!

And she was falling behind the others.

"Daryl," Carol whimpered as her fingers pressed against the glass. And his head whipped around.

"God _damn_ it," he swore, just before she saw his hand coming up to grab the lock.

But that was when the cabbie seemed to realize how bad things were getting . . . because he suddenly punched the gas and jerked the wheel.

Then all three of them were flying across the back seat, with Sophia ending up half in Carol's lap, and Carol ending up half in Daryl's.

Seat belts probably would have been a good idea.

It turned out not to matter though, because the cab was already spinning around in the other direction . . . and they all fell back to where they were sitting before.

The driver was trying to get them over the grass divider and into the traffic going the other way.

They were sort of stuck on the divider part at the moment.

But all Carol could focus on, as she twisted around to peer out the back window, was the lady and that baby carriage.

Her view was mostly blocked by the other cars (only a few of them were trying to pull out like the cab had) and the people (more running now than before), but she hadn't lost them yet. But that's because the lady was wearing a bright pink sundress that stood out against the fleeing crowd. Carol could still see well enough to know that she was crying. And she kept throwing these looks behind her.

Like she knew exactly what was happening.

God.

"They're not going to make it," she whispered to Daryl, the heartbreak clear in her voice. And she felt his hand on her back, as he twisted to see behind them.

"I woulda got 'em if I could," he murmured. And Carol winced at the pain in his voice.

"I know," her nail dug into his arm, "I know."

But then she gasped, and yanked her hand away to press it against the glass.

"Oh! Somebody in that café over there is waving people in! I think . . ."

And she paused, watching as the scene began to fade even further . . . the cabbie had found an opening in the traffic.

They were pulling away.

"Yeah," she finished on a whisper, "yeah, they're okay. Or," she sniffed, blinking the tears from her eyes as she turned back around, "at least they're inside."

"That's good," Daryl nodded adamantly, "that's good, that all they needed was somebody to get 'em off the street." He looked back again, his eyes raking over all of those people who hadn't gotten off the street.

Too many.

It was then that Carol heard sirens in the distance, and she let out a breath.

"Hopefully the police will be able to get it under control," her voice faded, "like last night."

But that was when she remembered what the police did to get things 'under control' last night. And pushing down a shiver at the memory, she suddenly refocused then on Sophia. She was still curled up against Carol's side, with her hand still over her eyes.

Her face was pale and sweaty.

"Oh honey," Carol reached over to rub her hand down her daughter's arm, "I'm sorry. I got distracted with something outside. Are you okay?"

"Mmm," she whimpered back, the terror clear in her voice. And then a teary, "can I open my eyes yet?"

"Uh," Carol shot an unsure look up to Daryl, who looked out the back window, to the chaos that was nearly faded from view.

Like it wasn't even happening at all.

"Yeah darlin'," he turned back, "s'okay now. Actually mister," he leaned up, "can you still get us around to the hotel? Or was what was happenin' there, close to it? Because we don't wanna go there anymore if that was like, right out front."

"Naw, man," the cabbie shot their group a bit of a harried look in the rearview mirror, "whatever the hell that was there, it was just a block or so up, and the stadium and hotel are like six or seven more miles, plus," his attention bounced back out the front window, "maybe one or two blocks over." He nodded firmly. "We just have to go around now, but I'll get ya there. And hey man," he added with another look in the mirror . . . this time specifically at Daryl, "thanks for keeping an eye out back there," He huffed, though there wasn't any amusement in it. "I was thinkin' that crowd was just watching a traffic dustup."

To that, Daryl made the same dismissive murmur, that he had ever other time Carol had seen him faced with praise he didn't feel he deserved. And seeing his attention drift out to the side window, she reached over to take his hand, folding her fingers into his.

Because even if he was going to keep acting like he wasn't just a little bit amazing, she wasn't. She was going to acknowledge it.

Acknowledge him.

So as their cabbie whipped them down and around, this side street and that one, putting more and more distance between them and that little pocket of hell, Carol cuddled Sophia up on her left side, and then cuddled them both up to Daryl on the right.

For a second she wasn't sure what he was going to do, having them leaning against him that way. But then she felt his grip on her hand shift . . . and then his thumb was stroking along the inside of her wrist.

And she was reminded yet again, that for someone with such rough looking hands, he had a very gentle touch.

A soothing one too.

It was enough to calm her still racing heart. And after a five or ten more minutes of circling around the expressway, before they moved onto the surface roads again, she felt almost calm.

Almost.

But it was like there was this tension now in her neck, the kind of tension she got when Ed sat down with a six pack to watch the game. Because she knew eventually he was going to finish that beer, or his team was going to drop a play. Or God forbid, lose the game.

And then her day was going to turn.

Feeling her stomach twisting at the years of horrible memories suddenly trying to push their way up and to the surface . . . one kind of trauma triggering another, fun, fun, fun . . . Carol winced. And apparently sensing some kind of change in her demeanor . . . her body _had_ just tensed up . . . Daryl turned to look at her.

Her eyes darted over to his.

Apparently whatever he saw in them, bothered him. Because he reached up then, with his free hand, the one not still holding her fingers, to touch her cheek.

"We're okay now," he whispered, and she gave him a little smile.

"Yep, I know," she let out a slow breath, "just had a bad thought for a second. I'm all right."

For a second he just looked at her, then he nodded slowly.

"We can talk about that thought later, if you want," he murmured as his hand fell down and he looked back out the side window, "after she's asleep."

"Maybe," she answered on a sigh as she settled back in against his side, "if it's still bothering me, but I really hope it just goes away."

"Mmm," Daryl murmured, wordlessly that time . . . and then he went back to brushing his thumb along her wrist.

It was enough to settle her brain again. But then, seeing something in the distance, she bumped her head against his arm.

"There."

The sign for the hotel was just ahead.

And he gave a grunt back while reaching down with his other hand to pick up his bag from the floor.

"What's a good tip?" Daryl murmured to Carol as he eyed the trip meter hanging off the dashboard.

Given how the cabbie had technically, _potentially_ , saved all their lives about twenty minutes ago, a five spot seemed a little on the cheap side.

"Um," Carol chewed down on her lip for a second before she pulled her hand out of Daryl's, but kept it down low over his thigh. Then she flashed her fingers three times and she saw Daryl nod.

He started pulling the bills out of his wallet.

And by the time the cab was rolling up to a stop in front of the Country Inn, on a normal, fairly quiet, unusually green (they had a park), block of the city, one where nobody was screamin' or trying to eat anybody else, he had the stack of bills in hand.

"We'll shave off the cost for that last detour," the cabbie nodded as he put them in park, and turned to look over his shoulder . . . his dark eyes gave them all the once over, "so let's say forty even."

Knowing that he already had much more than that in his hand, Daryl leaned up to pass the cash over the seat.

With the change in rate, the tip was now up from fifteen, to almost twenty-five . . . and that was okay with him.

"Good drivin', man," he muttered with a nod, and the two men exchanged a quick look . . . and a firm shake . . . as the money slipped from hand to the other.

Then Daryl turned to get the door.

After he'd stepped out onto the steamy sidewalk, and had eyed it once more for signs of screamin' horror to come . . . nope, still quiet, with nice, clean lookin' hotels ahead and behind them, that bit of nature across the street, and a whole buncha dorky looking tourists walkin' around . . . he let out a breath.

Then he reached back in to take the duffel from Carol.

He hoisted that over his shoulder, and then put his hand back in to help out Carol herself . . . and then a moment later . . . Miss Sophia.

She still looked a little pale.

So as she came up next to him on the sidewalk, he brushed his hand over her hair.

Her head was sweaty too.

"That was our last adventure for the day little miss'," he drawled, while smackin' the door shut with his hip, and knockin' twice on the roof with his fist, "I promise."

"I hope so," came back the quiet response as she tried to get her backpack up on her shoulder. The strap kept catching.

He reached out to fix it for her.

Then, with the taxi peeling away behind them, Daryl stooped down and turned Sophia around so he could catch her eyes. What he saw made his stomach hurt.

Because they were gettin' teary again.

"We're gonna be in a good hotel tonight," he continued softly as his hand came up to cup her smooth, little jaw, "with security people keepin' out the bad apples. And you'll be in a room up high, high off the ground, which means that nothing could get ya even if somethin' _did_ happen outside. So please darlin'," he shook his head, "don't be so scared." Then his lip quirked up a bit, "you and your mama'll be safe in bed, all night long."

For a second Sophia just stared up at him with those big, watery, blue eyes, like she was judgin' what he was saying.

Tryin' to figure out if he was lying to her or not.

Apparently she decided not, because all of a sudden, she sucked in a breath . . . and threw her little arms around his neck. But almost as quickly as she did it . . . before Daryl could even react really . . . she'd pulled away again, and backed up into her mother.

Carol leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

As Daryl slowly came up to his feet, he noticed that girl wouldn't look at him anymore. Her eyes were just locked at a spot on the ground . . . a piece of old gum . . . and he could see a bit of pink in the profile of her complexion. It seemed like she was embarrassed about the hug.

And he couldn't have that.

So after he'd shot a quick glance over to Carol, who gave him a sympathetic smile as she rubbed her daughter's shoulder, he reached out to touch Sophia's chin.

Then he lifted her head.

When their eyes locked, he shot her a wink, and a little smirk. After a second of staring, one where she seemed to realize that he wasn't upset about she'd done . . . which was backwards thinkin', he thought it was sweet . . . she gave him a shy smile back.

"There we go," he let out on a relieved breath while moving his hand off of Sophia's chin, and over to pat her cheek.

"And, _now_ we can go inside."

* * *

 _A/N 2: I did deliberately bookend all of the violence with the quieter scenes, specifically to underscore how it's not everywhere yet. It's still just bubbles popping from place to place, but where the bubbles aren't popping, life is normal because nobody knows the pot is about to start boiling over._

 _I feel like "realistically" (such as realism applies here) people would keep misreading the signs of events, as always being something else. The horses or zebras rule. So in our current world environment, multiple plane crashes, especially including one that hits mid-town NY = terrorism. People in their cars, swerving and crossing lanes = drunk. Nobody's reading those things as illness, let alone what it really is, so it starts spreading faster and faster. And I thought that those long haul flights across the oceans, would especially be hell for an epidemic like this. People could seem fine when they got on the plane, get sick, die and turn, infect more people, and then they'd turn, all before they were close to landing. And then you've got a cabin full of walkers tearing apart the plane, all while they're still flying 600 mph, over the Pacific Ocean. And now I want to write THAT story too! See how much fun (read horrifying) stuff that FearTWD could have explored?! *headshake/eyeroll* :)_

 _Originally I'd planned to let the fate of the mom and baby remain a total unknown (the cab pulled away, and they fell back into the crowd), but I do have a new baby/new mom in the family this week, and I was like, "eh! It's hurting me to write this!" But I was going to push by that because I have written other things that bothered me to write/hit close to home, if they were appropriate for the story. But then I decided, 'for the story' it was too soon to do that to Carol. It would have really messed with her head, before I was ready to do so. So, for those two reasons, they got sucked into the coffee shop :)_

 _Also, I thought it would be amusing for Daryl to have had at one point in time "some" interest in wearing clean clothes. And a two day, sweating in the Georgia heat, limit, seemed reasonable for him ;) Side point there, I get how hygiene standards quickly fall by the wayside as basic 'staying alive' priorities shift dramatically, but I just feel like that 'occasional bathing' thing, would be TRULY the hardest part for me, of the Apocalypse. I think I could get used to the walkers, more quickly than I could not being able to rinse off the walker bits, at the end of a busy walker killing, day._

 _And lastly, you might have noticed in the 'verbiage' that Daryl uses here (and in a previous chapter) when he refers to spending time with young children, it's not "realized" it's "reminded." There is a little back story coming along eventually which will explain that. Because I thought he was WAY too competent, and immediately comfortable with a newborn Judith, for there not to have been any babies in his life before._

 _Thanks all! :)_


	8. A Little Drip Here, A Little Drop There

**Author's Note** : There is a brief cameo in here that I think will be readily apparent to anybody who knows who it is. More at the end on that.

Otherwise, a side note to anybody who also reads me on Criminal Minds. I was lucky enough to receive a few nominations on the Profiler's Choice Awards. So I just wanted to say thank you if any of you out there were involved in me getting those :) Unfortunately I know my crossover on this story, to THAT fandom, is minimal (but there are a couple of you), but as I'm not posting anything over there right now, I figured I'd take a shot! And if any of you are out there who are active, the final ballot will be out this week, if you wanted to vote here on the forum, u/7215373/ ;) These were my categories.

 _Best Drama: The Arrangement  
Best M-rated: The Arrangement  
Most Beloved: Second Chances  
Best Hotch: Falling in Love, Again  
Best Hotch/Emily: The Hours_

Thanks!

And to this, picking up almost exactly where we left off.

* * *

 **A Little Drip Here, A Little Drop There . . .**

"Hmph."

Daryl gave a grunt of appreciation as he stopped just inside the double doors of the Atlanta Country Inn Suite, to look up and around the open lobby of the hotel.

The place was nice.

Not only was the air good and cold, but all the papered walls and leather furniture, looked clean. But best of all, there was no vomit, jizz, needles, junkies, whores or pimps, stinkin' up the _foyay_.

Yeah, when it came to overnight accommodations, that's what he called a Shangrafreakinla!

And he could he tell from Carol's pleasantly surprised murmur of, "ooh they have a bookstore and a coffee shop," that she liked the place too.

So with that note of feminine approval, he hoisted the duffel back a little further on his shoulder . . . the water bottles kept shifting around . . . and started walkin' the three of them along the creamy colored carpeting, they had coverin' the path down to the front desk. To Daryl's opinion, puttin' a color like that on a front door of a busy building, was kind of dumb . . . the thing should be filthy . . . but this rug was nearly spotless. In fact, he only saw two sets of little brownish stains as they walked along.

They looked kinda like drops of blood.

But he was assumin' (hopin') that was just his day that was making him read those spots the way he did. Because really, they coulda been coffee. Or anything. His gaze shifted back, to look over his shoulder, and out into the sunny parking lot.

Anything at all.

His attention was quickly refocused to the forward direction though, when he felt Carol's hand on his arm.

"Is something bothering you?" Was the whisper he heard come up from his right.

"Naw," he shook his head, "s'all good."

Then he reached over to give what he was hopin' came off as a reassuring pat, to the hand she still had clutching onto his arm. And he probably woulda just moved to take her fingers . . . he liked holdin' her hand, and he'd decided maybe he'd keep doin' it while he could . . . but just then they arrived to the end of that off white carpetin'.

The check-in desk was just ahead.

And though there were maybe a dozen or so people mingling around the lobby, and visible in that coffee shop off to the left, and the bookstore off to the right . . . all business suits and tourist types mainly . . . fortunately there was only one couple actually in the check-in line right then.

They were sort of a funny match though.

Again, that was to Daryl's estimation, but he was thinking it was a pretty solid one. Because though they were both probably right around the same age (his age), forty something, they really didn't go together. The woman was attractive enough for Daryl to take a second (subtle) glance, but the man just looked like a TOTAL doofus! First he had the white pants, which no man should be wearin' white pants, but then he also had one of those golf shirts on. Which might not have been bad by itself, but when he turned a little to pull out his wallet, Daryl saw that the thing was buttoned all the way up to the top. Like RIGHT, diggin' into his Adam's Apple!

And there creases in the short sleeves.

Who the _HELL_ puts creases in short sleeves?! He scowled . . . the stupid, that was who.

It wasn't until Daryl let out an annoyed huff to go along with his scowl . . . there was just nothing he hated more than stupid . . . out of his side view, he saw Carol turn to look up at him. He opted not to look back, but whatever she saw in his profile, caused her to reach over and run her hand down his arm again.

That time she let her fingers slide into his.

And as their digits curled together, he let out a slow breath. All right, maybe there was a bit of a point in her actions.

Maybe he _was_ lettin' himself get worked up for no good reason.

It was just the day, that was all, this God damn day. All he wanted to do, was to get them all upstairs, and just . . . rest. Just sit and rest for short while.

In a quiet . . . safe . . . place.

And so to keep his blood pressure down, and achieve a little bit of Zen, he tried to make himself focus on that image. The image of just sittin' still and quiet in a small room. And sure enough.

It carried him through.

Because the next thing he really consciously processed, was the check-in clerk handing over one of those credit card keys to the doofus, and then pointin' off to the left.

Daryl's eyes followed.

Elevators.

Yeah . . . his attention snapped back to the front . . . he'd already taken those in when they'd first walked into the joint. And by his estimation, those elevators were about as nice as the rest of the place. There were three of them in the bank, and they all had shiny metal doors that were polished up like mirrors.

They did not look sticky at all.

So with these people in front of them now technically "done," but not yet "moving," Daryl tried to hold onto his Zen while he waited there in line with as much patience that he could. But his patience, which was admittedly minimal, even on a good day, was truly being pushed to its limits. Because he was standing there watchin' the doofus try to hoist his wife's carry-bag up off the ground. Apparently though, there were less muscles on this dude, than there were on Sophia.

Because he wasn't havin' ANY luck getting that bag up on his shoulder.

It kept slippin', while he kept groanin', and Daryl couldn't help but mutter a, "Jeezus _Christ_ " under his breath, that resulted in him immediately gettin' a light tap on the arm, from of all people . . . Carol.

The tap didn't hurt of course, it was more like a tiny gnat bumping into him, than anything even approachin' the word, " _discomfort_." But still, the action caused his lips to twitch. Because it had been a couple hours since he'd found anything about this world actually, "funny" . . . but Carol's efforts at trying to make him be _polite_ . . . were Goddamn hilarious.

And so he couldn't stop himself from her shootin' her a little smirk, and he could see she tried to give him a 'chastisin' look back . . . one to stop him from being mean to that weak armed doofus there in front of them . . . but her attempts at chastising, didn't last through his smirking. Because then her mouth twisted, until a little smile peeked through. And she looked real cute right then, cute enough actually, that it kinda made his lungs feel tight. It was that reminder, she was gonna go away tomorrow.

There wouldn't be any more little smiles for him then.

And it was like she sensed the change in his mood, because her head tilted, as her eyebrow went up. And he could see the "what?" right there on the tip of her tongue.

He turned away.

Then he pulled his hand out of hers, reached out . . . and snatched that God damn carry-bag up off the shiny floor.

The doofus had just dropped it again.

"Here," he muttered while fixing it onto the guy's shoulder, "I got it."

"Oh," came out the surprised huff, while the guy stumbled back a step. As though the weight of it seemed to knock him off kilter. And given that the damn thing only weighed maybe thirty pounds, Daryl wasn't sure if this "man" wasn't in fact a six year-old girl in disguise. But whatever, he was tryin', _REAL HARD_ now, to be nice and not mock him again. And he was doin' that for Carol's sake.

So she wouldn't think badly of him.

And feelin' her reach over to again take his hand, and give his fingers a squeeze, did actually help in him biting down his tongue, while he was watched that grown man try to regain his balance from a thirty pound load. But once he'd gotten himself straightened out, a good eight or nine (embarrassing) seconds later, he gave Daryl a jaunty tip of his head, and a, "thank you sir."

"Mmm," Daryl grunted, his eyes shifting to look just over the man's shoulder, "s'nothing."

It was then that Daryl heard the little huff from Carol, and he shot her a side eye. She was only looking up at him that time. No smile.

But her eyes were soft.

It was another look he was thinkin' would be nice to see on a regular basis. But again . . . his teeth ground together . . . that wasn't to be.

So once more he made himself look away. That time to watch that weak man and his pleasantly plump, itty bitty, wife . . . she had some nice, full, curvy bits on her, both front and back . . . making their way over to the elevators. Their rolly bag was grumbling along behind them.

She seemed to be in charge of that.

And so with them finally out of the way, Daryl slipped the strap of the duffel off his shoulder, and let the bag slide down to the floor. Which was when the clerk, a kid (well, probably twenty-something, but everyone under thirty-five was a kid to him now) popped up right in his face, with a big, toothy grin.

The thing practically split his whole head open.

"Hi y'all! How can I help you folks out on this beautiful day?!"

Oh God . . . Daryl bit down a groan . . . fuckin' kill him now. Because he was NOT in the mood for any of that 'sunshine up your ass bullshit!' And he couldn't help himself from shooting a sort of pleadin' look over to Carol . . . because God was _TESTIN'_ him today, and he coulda used a little sympathy for that . . . but she didn't seem to be in the sympathy business at the moment. Because she just sent him the same look back, that he'd just given to her.

' _Please be nice.'_

Those were the words that she mouthed to him, right after she brought her hand up so the clerk couldn't see.

Christ.

Okay yeah . . . he grunted to himself . . . fine, he'd try and keep his annoyance in check with _this_ asshole too! It was just for Carol's sake though, that was it, in not wantin' to embarrass her. So he took a breath to try and pull out some approximation of 'nice,' to get through this conversation.

 _If the guy would just stop with the damn smilin', it would all go so much easier._

"Yeah, hi," Daryl squinted a bit when he looked down to read the guy's name tag.

"Todd."

Then he blinked as his eyes snapped back to the kid's face.

"We need uh . . ."

But before he could get the whole thing out, Daryl felt Carol tapping him on the arm.

He turned his head. And she bit her lip, before leanin' up a little . . . so he leaned down.

Then she was whisperin' in his ear.

"If you want to, we could share a room. We already sort of did last night. So if you'd like to save the money and just do one room up front," she leaned back with a shrug. "It's okay with me."

For a second Daryl just looked down at her, then he looked over at Sophia on the other side of her mama . . . and then lastly, back over to Todd.

Idiot still had that smile on his face.

"Whadda you got open for just the night?" He finally asked while leaning forward to tap his fingers on the shiny wooden counter, that smelled kinda like fake lemons.

"You got a list or something?"

"Oh, yes," Todd happily started fumbling around under the counter, "of course sir."

Two seconds later, he pulled up an oversized laminated paper, and plopped it down in front of them.

It was a sheet of mini-blueprints.

"Now these," Todd started pointing randomly, "are all the room types available at this hotel. If you just point at the one you're looking for, I can double check and make sure we have one open. But as you might know, the Braves are playing away this weekend, so," he finished with another bright smile, "our availability is quite open."

"Hmm," Daryl murmured, while starin' over at Todd just long enough to make him uncomfortable . . . the smile had started to slip.

And now that he'd finally gotten that nonsense out of the way . . . he just needed him to stop lookin' like a damn game show host . . . Daryl dropped his eyes, and started scannin' down the page. He was running his finger along each of the room descriptions, trying to see which would be best for their little group. Then there, half way down on the left side column, he finally saw one that he liked.

So he smacked his finger down and turned to Carol.

"How's that?"

And she leaned in, and he saw her eyes crinkle right before she looked up at him and nodded.

"Perfect."

"K," Daryl's eyes snapped back over to Todd's . . . the wattage on his smile had dropped to about a twenty, "if we can," he continued, "we'd like one of these," he spun the paper around and tapped the picture again, "on the highest floor that you got one available."

The room that they'd picked, was the ' _King, Sofabed, Suite_.' It came with a bedroom, a bathroom, and a separate sittin' room. And the sittin' room had a couch, that pulled out into a full double bed. So basically they'd be sharin' the one locking door, but everybody'd still have privacy inside. And bonus, it even came with a coffeemaker.

Like Carol had said . . . it was perfect.

And even though it cost about sixty bucks more than a regular room, it was still cheaper than getting two singles. So really, it was the best choice all around. Though seein' Guy Smiley still tap, tappin' away, on his little computer keyboard, was worryin' Daryl some.

He was just hoping that he wasn't suddenly gonna come back and say they couldn't have what they wanted to get.

But then finally Todd pursed his lips.

"Okaaay," he started slowly reading the words on his screen, "it seems that we _do_ have two of those suites available, and yes," his lip quirked up, "one of them is on a higher level."

Then he looked over at Daryl expectantly.

"Is the fifth floor, okay? It's as high as we go."

"Yeah," Dave gave Todd a nod while simultaneously shooting Sophia a quick glance, "fifth floor's perfect."

It was just what he'd promised the girl . . . a floor high, high off the ground.

So with the room pickin' sorted, he pulled out his wallet, and started digging around for his cash and a couple forms of ID. Because he was figurin' that a hotel like this, they were definitely gonna want personal identification.

That had not been an issue the night before.

But Todd did indeed take Daryl's Georgia driver's license, and his Ironworker's, Local 387, card. When he handed that one over, Carol leaned in a little.

"You're an ironworker?" She asked with a tilt of her head. And his nose scrunched a bit as he looked over at her.

"I do some weldin' from time to time. It's good money, but it's harder to get jobs if you don't got the union card." He huffed a bit, "plus some of the ironworkers got no problems breaking your legs if they think you're scabbin', so," his attention drifted over to Todd walking up to the copy machine, "I find it's safer to stay in good standin', than to lose a kneecap."

Hearing Carol harumph a bit at that, Daryl figured she didn't much approve of the leg breakin' part of the business. But that was all it was, _part_ of the business. Which again, was why he opted to join up with the union after he got his Journeyman's license.

He didn't want no part of that shit.

"Did it take a long time to get your license?"

Carol asked that second question, after a brief pause. And findin' himself a bit intrigued by it, Daryl turned around, leaning up with his up against the counter, so he could see her face.

"Why?" His lip quirked up. "You thinkin' about going into ironwork?"

"Well," her eyes crinkled a bit, "maybe not ironwork _specifically_ , but," she shrugged, "I never finished college, and I do need to figure out a job. A career ideally, really. Something I can depend on to support us, so," her jaw twitched a bit, "when I saw that you were in the union, I started thinking about all of those jobs that require licenses. They seem to be pretty steady work, and I was just wondering how long it takes to get into them."

"Well," Daryl's arms came up to cross at his chest, "kind of depends on the job I'm sure, but I imagine most of them would probably require at least a year of trainin' before you could take the tests to get certified. Some of them might be less, but if you're talking about the, as they say, _skilled_ professions," he rolled his eyes, "you really just gotta allow for the time to learn the trade."

For a second Carol just stood there, gnawing on her lip. And he was guessin', taking in what he'd just said. But after a moment, he saw her give a slow tip of her head.

"That makes sense." She answered softly, "so I guess once I get settled, I should start looking into the different training programs, see which ones have the shortest schooling that I might be good at, and then go from there."

"Mmm," Daryl nodded firmly, "that's a good plan. Though . . ."

But his thought was interrupted by Todd coming up behind him.

"All set with the ID, Mr. Dixon."

So Daryl turned around. And he saw that his cards were being slid back across the counter.

"Now if you'll give me a second," Todd continued pleasantly, while turning back to his computer screen with the photocopies in front of him, "I'll get you checked in."

Daryl grunted something approximating an, "okay," before he turned around again, ready to finish his thoughts on Carol's schoolin' ideas. That was when he saw though . . . she was a little preoccupied.

Her and Sophia both.

"What are you two lookin' at?" He asked, eyeballing the two of them, starin' across the lobby.

"Oh," Carol shot him a sheepish look over her shoulder, "just the display at the bookstore. They have the complete Harry Potter collection there in the window." Her attention shifted back over to the store. "And Sophia and I," she patted her daughter's shoulder, "we just started reading the first two books a few months ago."

Though the books had been around for almost ten years, Carol had believed her daughter to be too young to start them until recently. But Sophia had been chomping at the bit for the last year almost, to get going on them. So Carol had saved up all of her pennies that she wasn't saving up for their escape, and bought those first two books . . . used . . . for Sophia's tenth birthday. Of course it would have been nice if she'd been able to get her daughter a present that hadn't been 'pre-owned,' but Ed wasn't much for the celebration of birthdays. And he SURE wasn't much for 'wasting' money on birthday presents. So pretty much every gift that Carol had ever bought her daughter, (and then given to her in private after her daddy had gone off to work), had either been 'gently' used, or _SEVERELY_ discounted.

Those end of the aisle bins were great for stuff like that.

It still would be nice though, if one day she could afford to buy her daughter something shiny and new, just because.

Suddenly feeling something poking into her arm, Carol looked down to see that there was a twenty dollar bill being shoved in her direction.

Daryl.

"Go get her the next one," he murmured, "and something for yourself."

"Oh," Carol's brow darkened as she immediately began to shake her head, "no, we couldn't . . ."

But he cut her off.

"You're gonna have a lot of free time in that shelter," he argued back, though his voice was still soft, "it's gonna be like being in the joint, and you're gonna need something to keep her busy, or you'll both go crazy. So," his lip quirked up a bit, "just consider it a grant from the Merle Dixon Memorial Book Club. Because Merle ain't never gone in, and not come out at least two dozen books smarter. My brother might be an idiot," Daryl huffed, "but he's the smartest damn idiot you'll ever meet. So please Carol," he gave her a look, "take the twenty, and do some good with it."

Feeling a bit of a sting in her eyes, Carol gave Daryl a soft smile.

"All right then," she whispered as she took the bill from his hand, "thank you." Then she reached out to touch his chest.

"I'd like to try and pay you back some day for all this," she added before letting her fingers curl back, "I'm just not sure when that might be."

Her last words came out on a faint sigh. But then she heard Daryl scoff.

"Pfft," he gave her a look, "come on now, don't be thinkin' about stuff like that. It'll just stress you out more. So we'll just say we're square, but if you ever win the Powerball, we can chat again then."

And even though . . . or maybe just because . . . he looked so serious when he made that proposal, Carol couldn't stop herself from breaking out in a giggle.

"Oh Daryl," she brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to cover over her laughter, "you're too much!"

A bit of a smirk pulled at his mouth then, but he quickly looked away.

"All right now," he took a breath just before his eyes snapped back to hers, "you two run get your books, while I finish up here."

"K," she shot him another quick smile, before starting over to her daughter standing a now a good five paces away . . . she'd been edging ever closer to the bookstore ever since she'd spotted that wizard on display.

"Come on baby," she reached out to catch Sophia's fingers, "we've got some shopping to do."

So Daryl watched them go, keeping half an eye on them, while he kept the other half on the people still wanderin' about the lobby. Not that any of them seemed dangerous, it was just that he'd already had some hard lessons that weekend on how quickly a 'normal' crowd of people, can turn into a crazed and terrified one. And he didn't need to learn that lesson again.

Two times was enough.

But seeing nothing around to indicate anything worrisome on the horizon, he finally allowed himself to turn back to the desk.

That was just in time to see Todd jamming the paper tray into the printer.

"One moment Mr. Dixon," he called out pleasantly, over his shoulder, "just had a little jam up here!"

"Yeah, okay," Daryl grunted back because he understood how shit happened.

Though his patience on 'shit happenin'' started to wear a little thin when, after another two minutes . . . he was alternatin' between watching for Carol and Sophia across the lobby, and readin' the big fancy Roman Numeral clock they had on the wall over the desk . . . Todd still hadn't finished printing out whatever he needed to print.

And Daryl was just about to say something along the lines, of "what the actual FUCK is the problem, man?" when Todd finally turned around.

He had a little stack of papers in his hand.

"Sorry about that," he said with a grin, because the man just could not take a permanent hint about dialing that shit down, "printer's being a bit hinky today. But," he dropped the stack down onto the counter, "if you can just please sign," he started flipping pages, "at the X on these two at the bottom, and then the rest," he finished up while pushing over a fancy pen, stuck on a not so fancy chain, "are all for you to keep. They're just general information about the activities at the hotel, and around the area."

Knowin that they weren't gonna be in that damn hotel long enough to do much of anything beside sleep, and probably watch some TV, Daryl just made a faint grunt of acknowledgement on that latter point, as he started flipping back down to the bottom of that pile of papers.

Todd had let them disappear when he'd pulled his hand away.

But not giving a shit about anything else in the pile besides what he was signin' off on, Daryl was only focused on those two signature pages. And he had just started reading over the first of them, when he heard some sort of minor commotion coming from behind him. And being _particularly_ sensitive to commotions of any size, at the moment . . . most especially when the ladies were out of his sight . . . his head whipped around.

And from out of that coffee shop he'd been eyeing earlier . . . it was on the other side of the lobby from the bookstore, thank God . . . he saw three people had just rushed out, and were runnin' towards the elevators.

It was a big bald black guy in black jeans and a grey t-shirt, a scrawny white guy wearing some kind of dorky sweater vest, and a VERY hot, brunette, in a red shirt and a dark suit. They were all packing.

He could see the holsters on their hips.

Daryl's eyebrow shot up in surprise . . . cops? Those three? Yeah, okay, maybe the black guy and the brunette, but that baby face . . . he scoffed to himself . . . pfft, no way.

He'd get eaten alive on the street.

But still . . . he eyed them closely . . . they were something. Because he could see badges clipped to their belts too. And as they ran past him . . . Sweater Vest balancing one of those frothy coffee drinks . . . he heard the black guy mutter something to the brunette, that caught Daryl's ear.

". . . otch just said to get upstairs now. We're not going to the station. We got called back to Quantico, wheels up in forty-five."

And then the brunette, with what Daryl took as a clear tone of disbelief, responded, "but we just _landed,_ an hour ago!"

Then they were gone.

Well, gone too far for him to hear anymore, that is. But still, he continued to watch while the three of them ducked around the startled hotel guests, before they finally hit the emergency stairwell around the other side of the front desk.

The brunette was the last one through.

And feeling a little tickle on the back of his neck, Daryl kept starin' until that big red door had slammed close, behind her.

Then the last words he'd heard, started to replay in his head. _Quantico_ , that black guy had said. They were going back to Quantico.

Daryl's jaw clenched.

They were feds.

"What do you think that was about?"

Hearing Carol's worried murmur from his side, Daryl's head snapped down.

"Oh," he huffed out a relieved breath to see her and Sophia standing at his side . . . Carol holding a medium sized green bag, "you're back." Then he processed that she'd just asked him a question, and he shook his head.

"Don't know," he sucked his teeth, "it was strange, but I'm pretty sure they were FBI."

"FBI?" Carol repeated back with a furrowed brow, her gaze snapping over to the closed red door she'd just seen fall shut. "I wonder what they're doing here."

"Anybody's guess that, but," Daryl let out a breath as he turned back to pick up the chained pen again, "they're leaving now."

His last words weren't really audible, because they were really more to himself than to her. But he was kind of distracted, and wonderin', even if it was a pointless wonderin', why a bunch of FBI agents were being called home, an hour after they'd arrived here.

More to the point though, what had brought them down to start?

It's not like they didn't have FBI people stationed here already. So why bring in more? Granted, Daryl had a few ideas on that point . . . things that those folks could be keepin' themselves busy with, that is . . . but God knew his ideas, probably weren't _their_ ideas. Probably more likely their visit had something to do with the plane crashes and that al Qaeda shit, than the 'people eatin' people' insanity that was more _Daryl's_ , top priority.

But whatever . . . he blinked and flipped the page . . . it wasn't like it was a mystery he was gonna solve. So he just refocused his attention on wrapping up the check in process. And after finishin' up with his final read through of the hotel room policy . . . basically don't break anything or we'll sue your ass . . . he signed off on that page, and pushed the two sets of papers back over with a yell to Todd (who was off chattin' up a blonde in the corner) that he was done.

From there it was another, painful, five or six minutes.

First, he threw down a bunch of cash on the counter to cover the total he'd seen on the signature pages. Then Todd counted it up, rang it up, went to the drawer and made him some change. After that, they had a brief back and forth on there still being a need for a credit card (which Daryl did not have with him) to cover 'incidentals' and 'potential' damage to the room. After about thirty seconds of _that_ nonsense, Daryl just rolled his eyes and dug back into his bag, down deep, to find that electric bill envelope.

He pulled his hand out with another three hundred dollars in cash.

A low watt glare, and a frosty tone, were enough to get Todd to agree that three hundred . . . almost twice over the cost of the room rental itself . . . should be MORE than sufficient to cover both, (speculative), points of contention. So after another two minutes wait for a (backroom) manager to sign off on their "gentlemen's agreement," (a "notable exception to hotel policy," was Todd's way of puttin' it), and then for Todd to print out a signed receipt for the full amount of the extra cash that Daryl expected damn well to be pickin' up in the morning, the room key was finally passed over.

Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition!

They were done!

It was just when they were finally walking away from that damn desk though, with Carol holding back a little to send Todd a polite, "thank you for your assistance," while Daryl tucked the key card into his jeans pocket, that a man cut in front of him, and stopped. He was well built, well dressed in a fancy grey business suit, and wearing a whole lot of expensive smellin' aftershave.

Enough aftershave actually, to make Daryl's nose wrinkle.

And with Carol still trailin' some steps back . . . though Sophia right down there by his side . . . the man leaned in. And that was before Daryl could do more than take a step back himself, even while he was tucking Sophia behind him. Because there was no telling if this guy was a psycho or not.

Even if he wasn't growlin' like a mad dog.

But then that overly tanned, overly muscled, man . . . grinned at him. And he did it with one of those Tom Cruise smiles. The kind that was just a little bit too white. And just a little bit too shiny.

And he knew then that this man had WAY too much money.

"What?" Daryl snarled, while walking both himself and Sophia another step back, because he was about to knock this guy on his ass, if he didn't get out of his face, and down to the DAMN point, real quick!

But then the man finally started speaking, introducing himself as, "Roger," with some kind of a northern accent that Daryl couldn't place.

"What is it that you _wanted_ , Roger?" Daryl responded icily, his tone showing less human interest in this conversation, than he would have thought possible to convey. Which was just when he heard Carol coming up behind him.

He knew her footsteps.

"Oh," Roger grinned and leaned back, briefly eyeing Carol, who Daryl had realized stopped a few feet back, "I just wanted to say," his eyes snapped back to Daryl as his voice dropped, "that you have great deltoids."

Then he started looking over Daryl's upper arms, like he'd never seen arms before.

" _Really_ , great deltoids." He continued quietly, but still loud enough that Daryl knew Carol could hear, "and if you're planning on being in the gym later this evening, maybe we can uh," he gave another flash of those overly white teeth, "trade workout routines." He shrugged, "or something."

After Roger had finished making his clumsy ass pass, Daryl looked down to the floor . . . and counted to five.

It didn't help.

So he just said, _'fuck it'_ in his head, and looked back up into that asshole's face.

"You got some real nerve there buddy," he growled back, "and you're probably thinkin' right now that I'm pissed off for one reason, but trust me, I am _very much_ pissed off for another. Which is why I am not gonna be as polite here as I otherwise would be. But for the sake of bein' straightforward, let me just say, the pretty lady behind me," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "who you have been _so_ rude to, is more my type than you are. And now you need to get outta _my_ face, before I help _your_ face, meet the floor."

The man's jaw clenched once . . . then he shot Carol a scathing glance . . . before his eyes shot back to Daryl again.

"I should have figured you were a Neanderthal," he muttered.

Then he turned on his heel, and stalked off in the direction of the front door.

He was yanking his sunglasses from his pocket as he walked away.

For a second after he left, Daryl just stood there, staring after him in disbelief. Then his eyes shot over to Carol, now standin' right beside him.

"Can you _believe_ that guy?!"

And Carol gave him a bit of an embarrassed smile.

"Well, I guess he thought you were attractive." Then she took in his lingering irritation, and bit her lip as she shifted the bag on her shoulder. "Does it bother you being hit on by a man?"

It was clear that the man was most DEFINITELY hitting on Daryl! And right in FRONT of her no less! What the hell?! No, they weren't 'together,' but that guy didn't know that! So it was a blow to both her sexual appeal, and personal femininity, to realize that strangers . . . or at least THAT stranger . . . must be assuming that there was no way IN HELL that Daryl would ever be sexually interested in, let alone 'with,' a woman who looked like _her_! Yes, Daryl was nice, and had made an effort to defend her honor, but still, that realization, that she really must look like an old hag to everyone else, was humiliating enough that she just started walking forward again.

And that was even though Daryl hadn't moved yet.

But he quickly fell in step beside her, with . . . and Carol thought this was sweet . . . Sophia's hand still clutched in his.

Though when he actually looked over at Carol herself, she saw that he had a nasty scowl on his face.

"I don't care about gay people bein' gay," he hissed out angrily, offended that Carol could think that was the problem, "or even if they think I might be gay too. It's happened once or twice before, and it never bothered me none. I even got a friend from high school with a boyfriend and little adopted baby girl down here in Atlanta. I see 'em sometimes when they come up to visit his mama, and he's still the same guy I knew back when we were kids."

"All right," Carol answered slowly, realizing that Daryl really was put out that she'd thought he might be homophobic. "So," she looked over at him as they walked up to the elevator bank, "if it wasn't a man hitting on you that made you so mad, what was it?"

"What _was_ it?!" He shot her a look before smacking the index finger of his free hand down on the shiny "UP" arrow. "How about it was that guy _SEES_ me checkin' into a hotel with a woman and a little kid, and still," the doors opened in front of them and he took a step back to let Carol onto the elevator, "he just _walks_ RIGHT UP with me holding Sophia's hand and you four feet behind, not even outta _EARSHOT_ , and he's wantin' me to hook up with him at the gym!"

He continued grumbling as he led Sophia onto the car.

"I mean really," he turned to hit the _Door Close_ button, "I could tell by the way he was lookin' at you, and half ass whisperin', that he was assuming you were with me! So him hittin' on me right then, that was just _rude!_ And then he gave you that nasty look." His jaw clenched, "he's lucky I didn't knock out one of those damn shiny teeth of his for that."

Daryl punctuated the "that" with a punch of the cursive number ' _five_ ' on the brass panel, before muttering the words, "arrogant jackass," under his breath. Then, hearing a little huff from behind him, he turned around to see Carol leaning against the back wall.

There was a faint look of amusement on her face.

"What?" He asked suspiciously, as the car started slowly moving up.

Then her mouth quivered.

"Nothing, just," she gave him a sheepish shrug, "I was having some similar thoughts about how it wasn't nice of him to say that stuff to you like I was invisible. It didn't occur to me that you might be offended for that reason too. Though," she added with a soft smile, "thank you for telling him that I was pretty, even if you were just trying to make a point."

And he looked over at her like she was crazy.

"You _are_ pretty," he stated with a bit more annoyance than he'd intended for words, which on their base, shoulda been a compliment. But did the woman _SERIOUSLY_ not understand the face she'd been gifted with there?! She was pretty like one of those ladies in the oil paintings. Elegant. His temper softened a bit.

And sweet.

But seeing how Carol's cheeks had flushed at his words even as her eyes cast down, he knew he needed a little backup in making his point. And the only backup around . . . his eyes bounced down to Sophia, standing there next to him . . . was this little person right here. Though seeing how she was starin' up, with wide eyes, looking back and forth between them, it was clear she'd been listening to their whole conversation anyway.

So he pulled her into it.

"Sophia, ain't your mama a real pretty lady?" He asked with a general gesturing of their joined hands, over in Carol's direction.

"Daryl," Carol's gaze snapped back over, as the blush in her cheeks deepened, "don't . . ."

But Sophia was already answering before Carol could even finish the thought.

"Uh huh," her daughter nodded seriously, "she's the prettiest mama in the bible class."

"See there, Carol," Daryl waved his free hand as though the matter had now been settled by the courts, "prettiest mama in the bible class. And God don't lie."

Carol looked over at him in astonishment for a second, before she burst out laughing.

"God's not actually _running_ the class, Daryl!" She let out on a chuckle, and she saw his mouth quiver a bit before he sobered again.

"Point's still the same," he said seriously.

Her amusement faded then, and she tipped her head to give him a grateful nod.

"And thank you for pushing that point."

The man had once again provided an unexpected boost to not only her self-esteem, but her hormone levels too. Not that such a thing was really on the forefront of her mind these days . . . general 'desirability' to the opposite sex, that is . . . but still, after being humiliated like that down in the lobby, it was kind of Daryl to say what he had. To go out of his way to make her believe . . . and she really did _believe_ it now, that he wasn't just being nice . . . how attractive he actually thought she was. And after a decade plus of living with a man who, on _his_ kinder days (of which there were few), called her an "ugly cow with worn out teets," it was an experience simply to have a man make her feel like an actual _woman_ , again.

That was a part of her that had kind of faded off.

Before she'd met Daryl, she would have said that it had died off. But with the way that he spoke to her, and looked at her . . . like he was right now . . . she was starting to sort of sense those emotions in there again. A bit of heat to her blood, sort of.

That was after years of just being cold all the time.

Though, noticing Daryl's attention suddenly shift down to the elevator floor as his body stiffened up, that chill came back again.

Though for different reasons entirely.

And she was just about to ask him what was wrong, when he let go of Sophia's hand to stoop down, almost to his knees.

He was peering at something on the carpet.

"What are you looking at?" She asked with a worried look at the grey Frieze.

"Stains," he muttered back as his head tipped to the side, trying to get a better view, "I saw a similar set of 'em on the way in. Little brownish circles on that running carpet that leads down to the desk. These ones are a little bigger, and they did a worse job cleaning up. In fact," he leaned closer to take a sniff, "I think they missed them completely."

He tipped his head back to catch her eyes.

"It smells like . . ."

And then he stopped. Because once again, little Miss Sophia was standing right there, this time looking down at him. Looking down with those wide eyes, and little big ears.

Little big ears that heard everything.

So Daryl finished his sentence with a lie . . . one told with the best of intentions.

To not scare the hell out of that child, for the second time in one day.

" _Coffee_ ," he shot Carol a pointed look, while he slowly pushed himself up to his feet, "somebody spilled coffee, here. Then they spilled some more of it on the way out, leadin' towards the front door."

"Coffee, huh," Carol repeated back tightly, her wide eyes locked onto his, "that's not good. You think um," she reached over to take Sophia's hand . . . Daryl noticed she was holding it a little too tightly, "it's okay to stay here with uh," she let out a slow breath, "people making a mess like that?"

Appreciatin' that she was trying to keep the 'metaphor' going, Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he shot another quick glance at the carpet, "I think it's fine." He looked back to her.

"That stain's dry." He let out a slow breath, "probably a couple, three days old."

And really, logically speakin', that blood (and Daryl was positive this one was blood, he got a faint whiff of copper when he put his nose down) could have been from something completely innocent. Busted nose, paper cut, little kid runs too fast, trips, and scrapes up an elbow. It could've been any one of those things.

Or a hundred more.

But the problem was, he didn't believe that it _was_ any of those first things, or the hundred plus others. Because with everything else that was stirrin' up everywhere they went, to then see a _random,_ unrelated smattering of blood stains drippin' around a hotel, well that would be a HELL of a coincidence. And he was quickly becomin' an _atheist_ on the topic of coincidences. Because it was hard to believe in something, when all evidence was goin' to the contrary.

Still though, atheist or not, he knew his estimate on the age of _this_ blood, was correct. It had been at least a day, probably two (the "three" was just to make Carol feel better), since it had been spilled. And God only knew how much more could have been spilled on the actual tile floor.

Which would be much easier to clean without leaving any visible trace.

Either way though, the main takeaway here, was that whatever had happened . . . his eyes shot up to the bright red digital display about to flip over to the number five . . . it was done now. The elevator bumped to a stop.

At least he hoped so.

Though seein' how Carol was now staring down at those teeny little brown droplets, mixed in to the grey fibers, like a massacre had taken place . . . vaguely possible, but unlikely given the teeniness of the mess left behind . . . he realized then she'd probably had her chain rattled one too many times for one day. So as the doors began to slide open, he put his hand out to her.

"Come on," he whispered, while wiggling his fingers, "let's go find the room."

After another second of nervously biting on her lip, Carol's eyes finally came up from the floor, and she reached out to put her left hand into his. Then with her right hand on Sophia's shoulder . . . Daryl led them out onto the fifth floor.

And though he tried SO hard not to, he couldn't help but to look down at the carpet, the second he stepped into the hallway. But fortunately there was nothin' there to see.

Or at least nothin' he _could_ see.

Which made sense, in a way, because drips on an elevator didn't necessarily mean they'd come from anywhere besides an event _on_ the elevator. Which was exactly what he told Carol, when her eyes dropped down too. And he saw her give him a tight, embarrassed smile, then, like she knew what he was saying was right.

But it still didn't make her feel any better.

There was nothing else to be done on that point right then though, not when they couldn't speak freely about blood splatter in front of the little ears. So he just gave Carol's fingers a quick squeeze, while he simultaneously looked over to check the floor map on the wall.

"We're this way," he said with a tip of his head to the right.

So with Sophia now walking in front of them, and Carol, he knew, still frettin' beside him, they started walking down that nicely kept, very recently vacuumed . . . he could still see the vacuumin' lines . . . hotel hallway.

"We're looking for 511 there, Little Miss," he called out to Sophia about five paces ahead, "let me know when you see it."

And seein' her turn her head to shoot him a bright smile over that little shoulder, it was clear that girl was pleased to be given another big person task.

It was the nugget adventure all over again.

"'K, Daryl!" She hollered back.

Then she started hurrying along, her little pink bag bouncing on her back, as she read the numbers (loudly) aloud, half over her shoulder.

She was gonna wake the dead.

"Think she's okay up there by herself?" Carol murmured, and Daryl let out a sigh . . . definitely had her chain rattled once too many times.

"Absolutely," he answered her on a whisper, "we could get her in a second if we needed to," he shot Carol a glance, "which we wouldn't." His eyes bounced back to Sophia still hurrying down the hall, still reading the door numbers at a bellowed pitch, "because everything's quiet up here, except her."

Hearing Carol snorted a bit at that, he knew that he'd helped let up some of her stress. And it was just then that Sophia yelled out.

"It's this one, Daryl!" She pointed at a door in the middle of the left hand side of the hallway. "This one right here!"

"Good job, darlin'!" He called back, "Woulda taken me forever to find it by myself!"

And that time Daryl heard Carol let out a faint huff. Then she murmured, more to herself than him.

"You're so good with her," her voice caught, "so much better than her daddy ever even tried to be."

For that, Daryl had no response. But fortunately they were close enough then to Sophia, and the door, that he was able to move on by just digging into his pocket to pull out the key card.

And as they walked up to Sophia, he held it out to her.

Her eyes got wide.

"Just hold the black stripe facing the door," he said quietly, "line it up in the slot, and swipe it down fast. The light should go green. If it don't work the first time, just do it again until it does. Got it?"

"Uh, huh," she nodded somberly while slowly reaching out to take the card from his fingers, "I can do it."

"Course you can," he murmured back dismissively, like it was silly for someone to even imply that she couldn't, "that's why I'm givin' it to you."

So then he waited patiently while Sophia made her first swipe on the pad. But their luck being what it was these days . . . not great . . . the light stayed red.

It still stayed red after she did it the second time.

He could see her little brow scrunch up at that, and she gave him a look. He shrugged.

"Sometimes that happens. Now what'd I say to do if it doesn't go green?"

"Do it again until it does," she repeated his words in her perfect parrot, little girl voice. So he nodded.

"There you go."

So she took a breath, turned back to the swipe bar, and whipped it through again. One . . . two . . . three, and . . . turned out fourth time was the charm.

Though as the light went green, and the lock clicked, Sophia froze with the card still hovering by the key panel . . . almost like she couldn't believe it had actually happened. But then she reached out to turn the handle . . . and when the door pushed in . . . she turned to look up at him.

And seeing that there was such a brilliant grin on her sweet face, Daryl couldn't help but give her a grin right back.

That kind of joy was contagious.

"See," his eyes crinkled as he reached out to tousle her hair, "knew you could do it."

"Good job honey," Carol added with a bright voice, and a soft smile.

That morning it had been a Snapple bottle, then a solo chicken McNugget purchase, and now it was an electronic keypad. Her daughter was definitely getting more done that day than she was. And fortunately that little exchange between her and Daryl, had helped to take Carol's mind off of her worries about the blood stains. Because if he said they weren't fresh, and that it was safe to stay in the hotel, then of course, she was going to believe him. She knew that he wouldn't _lie_ about a thing that could affect their safety.

It would be stupid.

And of the many qualities that Daryl Dixon had demonstrated so far, stupidity certainly wasn't one of them.

So with a slightly less weighty feeling on her chest . . . a certain amount of tension was still the constant right now . . . Carol led Sophia into their new hotel room.

They both stopped short.

"Oh," Carol's head turned as her eyes widened, taking it all in, "it's so big." She looked back to Daryl walking through the door behind her.

"For the money," she clarified to him, "I just figured the rooms would be small."

Of course she hadn't actually read over the dimensions on the blueprint sheet that closely. She'd just figured that a hundred and forty bucks, plus tax, wasn't going to buy them that much space.

She'd been wrong.

Because the room that they'd walked into, the sitting area with the desk (plus chair), coffeemaker (plus small table), TV (plus stand), and foldout couch (plus coffee table), was at least a twelve by fifteen. And looking through to the open door of the connecting bedroom, she could see another full sized space over there.

The place was huge.

And she could hear Daryl's murmured agreement on that point, coming from behind her.

"Yeah," Daryl let the duffel slide off of his shoulder, and down to the carpet, "it was a good deal for the money."

Not that he was an expert on such things, but he was old enough to have traveled around a little . . . mostly around the South, but it still counted . . . and he'd stayed in his share of both shitholes and respectable joints.

And this was definitely the biggest room he'd been in so far, for either end of that spectrum.

Bonus too, when he looked down, he couldn't see any signs of old blood on the fluffy beige carpetin'. Because really, that would've been a deal breaker.

No matter how good a rate they got.

And now that they were inside a nice, cool, clean, _safe_ place, with a deadbolt on the door . . . one that he'd just set after he'd dropped the duffel, and his bag down on top of it . . . Daryl felt a small amount of the tension in his neck let up.

At least enough for him to be able to turn it from side to side, without feelin' like he needed to loosen the bolts.

So he stood there for a second, stretchin' his back and neck while he watched Carol go about getting her daughter settled in.

First by taking Sophia's pack off of her back, before she opened it up, and dug down inside to get her out pajamas and clean underwear. Then she sent her daughter through the open bathroom door, with the clean clothes, and instructions to go to the bathroom, then take a shower with the little sample soaps, and put on her PJs. That they weren't going anywhere else, so she might as well be clean for the lying around.

And Sophia responded exactly as Daryl expected she would.

With a dutiful, "yes, ma'am," that made his eyes crinkle.

It wasn't until after she'd actually disappeared into the bathroom though, that he raised the point that had popped into his head a moment before.

"How'd you know she needed to go to the bathroom?" He asked while walking over to plop down onto the nice big couch/double bed. "Was that just mama's instincts?"

And Carol huffed.

"Oh, no," she gave a small head shake, "she told me when we were in the bookstore. And I told her she could go when we got upstairs. Which reminds me," Carol continued, while stooping down to pick up the green bag she'd dropped onto the carpet, "thank you again for the book money. The Harry Potter paperbacks were on sale," her eyes crinkled as she came back to her feet, "so we were able to get the next two in order."

"That's good," he nodded, before his eyebrow quirked up at the three books Carol was taking out of the bag, "and what'd you get for you?"

For a second after he asked the question, Carol stayed quiet. Though he could see a little flash of pink on her cheeks.

"Trashy historical romance," she finally answered with a sheepish shrug, "it was cheap and, well, I figured it might be a passable way to spend the time if I need a distraction."

Daryl sucked his teeth as he gave a slow nod.

"Makes sense," he drawled back, just before his lip quirked up, "may I see the book, please?"

Though he one hundred percent agreed that Carol needed to have a distraction from the situation she was now in, that didn't mean he wasn't still going to make fun of the "historical romance" that she'd just told him she'd bought. And that was even though he could see from how her face was turnin' a cute little shade of "tomato," that she was embarrassed as all get out, at the thought of him seeing it.

But still, she was a trooper, and though she let out a sigh while she did it, she trudged over and handed him the paperback.

The Harry Potter books, she put onto the table.

"I know it's dumb," she muttered while dropping down next to him on the couch, "and here," she started digging into her pants pocket, "I have your change too. Seven dollars and thirty-seven cents."

"Hmm," he murmured with half a glance in her direction, before his eyes snapped back to raking over the brightly colored illustration, "you can keep that. And _this_ ," he snorted a bit while tapping the glossy, flesh colored boobs coverin' half of the front cover . . . he was pretty sure he could see a nipple on there, "you're gonna have to hide this from your daughter!"

Then he read over the title again, and turned to her with a little grin.

"The Velvet Promise, really?"

From what he could tell from the description, (and the picture) it was a book about medieval things like castles and knights and damsels in distress. "Heavin' bosoms" and "burnin' loins" were both mentioned in the description.

The thing looked God awful.

Though he could tell from how Carol started to laugh, that at least she knew that too.

"I know!" she half laughed, half snorted, "it's terrible! It's a terrible book! But I didn't have much time to look," she let out a huff, "and there really wasn't a huge selection in the discount bin to start."

At that, Daryl's smirk morphed to a frown as his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well," he shot her a side eye glance, "who said you had to buy outta the discount bin? You had seven more dollars you didn't even use. Why didn't you buy yourself something good?"

Carol shrugged as her laughter fell away.

"I don't know," she answered quietly, "there was this other book, ' _The Year of the Flood,_ ' by Margaret Atwood. That looked interesting. And I've liked her other stuff. But it was a newer release, and, well," she let out a sigh, "I'm just not in the habit of buying anything full price, because Ed didn't give me a lot of spending money. Just enough for basics usually, and he always checked the receipts against what I bought, so I had to squirrel away pennies and nickels to buy anything that he would've thought was unnecessary." She rolled her eyes before adding a bit bitterly.

"Books fell into that category."

It had been such second nature to cheap out when buying things for herself, that she hadn't realized she'd even done it, until Daryl had asked why there was so much change left. And God, a whole seven dollars, that would have been a fortune to squirrel off from Ed. Of course he would have had to have been drunk to let that much money slip by him. And the one time that he _wasn't_ drunk when he was home, was when it came time to reconcile that week's receipts. She let out a soft breath.

God how she hated that man.

It was just then that she saw Daryl lean forward, to put the book down on the coffee table.

"We'll stop and get your Flood book on our way out tomorrow," he said softly, while leaning back against the couch, "and we'll return that one that goes in the bin."

Feeling a bit of warmth spark in her chest at his kindness, Carol turned to give him a little smile.

"That's sweet, but it's okay," she shrugged, "the book I got is fine."

His jaw clenched then, and her brow wrinkled when she realized that he seemed kind of upset.

But she couldn't figure out why that would be.

"It's _not_ fine Carol," Daryl answered her back, with a little more edge to his words than he'd intended. But then he immediately let out a slow breath, trying to adjust his tone so it wouldn't sound like he was angry with her.

Which it very much did right now.

"Sorry if that came out snappy," he continued in softer tone, "but I'm serious, it's not fine for you keep that book. It would be one thing if you liked the book _for real_ , if you thought it would be fun to read, but," his lips pressed together, "you said yourself it was horrible, and that wasn't the one you wanted. That you only got it 'cuz it was cheap. And it's not right you being stuck with trash, because you think that's all you deserve to get."

Hearing her sniffle, and realizing that she was about on the verge of tears, he paused. He was wonderin' if he should just leave it alone now. But then he remembered . . . they didn't have a lot of time left. And this was something that he wanted her ( _needed_ her), to know.

Still though, knowin' it might be a little bit hard for her to hear, Daryl reached over to pick up her hand before he turned to look over at her sitting there next to him.

He could see that her eyes were already gettin' shiny.

"See," he continued on a whisper, "you gotta believe you're worth more, if you want people to treat you like you're more. I appreciate the need to pinch a penny from time to time," he brushed his thumb along the inside of her palm, "but it doesn't have to be all the time. And it doesn't have to be just for you. Because you have to remember that things are different now." His gaze fell down to the coffee table, and that shitty book, "Ed's gone. And if you want all these new people you're gonna meet in your new life, to know that you're somebody that's important," he let out a slow breath, "you need to believe that first."

Daryl turned to look over at Carol again. And what he saw, made his stomach clench.

Because there were silent tears, runnin' like a mini flood, straight down her face.

Her eyes though, they were locked down onto her hand . . . it was folded up in his.

"I didn't mean for my words to make you cry," he whispered apologetically, "I just," he reached over to touch her cheek . . . though she didn't look up. "Carol, I want you to be mindful of your value."

Seeing her watery eyes finally shift back over to his, he finished with a sad smile.

"And your value's a hell of a lot higher, than anything you'd find in the discount bin."

It was obvious from the way that she winced at his words, as fresh tears spilled over, that he'd hit a tender nerve there. And he didn't want to hurt her, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he just couldn't send her off tomorrow with her beige pants and grey sweater and cheap, trashy book, thinkin' that she didn't deserve better from the world, than its faded discards.

But still, he couldn't abide that cryin' either. It hurt him to see it. And hurt him more knowin' he was the cause of it. So he twisted himself around, pullin' his leg up under him, until he was facing her in profile. Then he reached over to turn her head.

"I'm sorry I made you so sad," he murmured with a brush of his hand down her wet cheek, "what can I do to fix it?"

"It's not you," she sniffled back, "you're very sweet, Daryl. Sweeter than I can remember anyone ever being to me before. But it's just," she brought her hand up and rubbed her nose, "I don't know how to think the way you said. I'd like to," her voice cracked, "because I think I used to be that way. I know that I used to wear dresses and have pretty things, and sometimes buy nice stuff for myself just because I wanted it. But," she sucked in a ragged breath, "that was a long time ago. Before I married Ed. And all I've got in my head now," she winced again as a fresh tear spilled over, "is Ed. And I don't know how to get him out of there, Daryl!"

Her last words finished on a choked sob, and he immediately shifted closer even as his hand fell down from her cheek. Because he was about to pull her into a hug . . . but then he paused. Because he wasn't sure if that would be too much full contact for her.

Especially with her already feeling so down, and vulnerable.

He didn't want to make things worse than he already had.

So instead of doing what he wanted to do and give her that hug, he just shifted a little closer. Then he leaned over, and rubbed his hand down her back.

It wasn't a hug, but . . . he fumbled with his free hand to pick up her fingers again . . . it was the best alternate he could think of under the circumstances.

"It's all right," he murmured with a gentle pat to her back, "it's okay. I understand. And you just gotta remember when you get stressed, with his voice in there, that's what that counseling will be for. The people there will help you get him out of your head. Then you'll be able to think clear again."

At that, Carol lifted her eyes, and looked over at him in surprise.

"You really think so?" she sniffed. And he nodded as he reached out to snag a tissue, from the box off the table.

He passed it over to her.

"I do. I think that's probably the exact point of those classes. To help you ladies get your minds uncluttered. Why?" He tipped his head. "What did you think they were for?"

"Oh," she answered with a sniffle as she brought her hand up to wipe her cheek, "I wasn't thinking about those classes really being for me at all. I was just thinking they were something good for Sophia. Which," her mouth twisted, "I cans see now is exactly the point you were making, huh?"

"Yeah," he bit his lip, "that was the point."

They were both quiet and still for a minute. Then finally Carol brought that tissue up and started drying her face. And knowin' that they'd talked more than enough on the point that had triggered those tears, Daryl decided it was time for him to just shut up.

So he busied himself with passing Carol clean tissues, which she used to dab at her eyes, blow her nose, and scrub her cheeks. Then a minute or so later, after she'd crumpled the last soggy little white ball up, and tossed it into the trash by the side of the couch, she turned to him.

"How do I look?" She asked, her fingertips making a self-conscious ghost over her cheek.

And his expression softened as he reached out.

"You look like a painting." He answered with a gentle stroke of his thumb along her jaw. Then he shot her a wink, and his hand fell as he stood up.

"I'll get us some water," he said over his shoulder.

And Carol watched him go across to their bags by the door. Her face seemed to feel even more flush, the more steps he took going the other way. Finally she had to just look down, as her hand came up to lightly glide over her jaw. Where he'd last touched her.

She felt an ache in her chest.

God, if only she'd met Daryl back when she was young and had all of her good years ahead of her. But no, the universe had given her Ed as a booby prize . . . and he'd sucked all of those good years away.

Like a vampire.

But then over a decade later, she finally finds the strength to run away from him. And she runs right into this man here with her now. This man who asks her opinion on things, and listens when she talks. Who tells her to know her own value, and that she's pretty . . . she let out a slow, pained, breath . . . like a painting. She finally meets _that_ man.

For a forty-eight hour window.

A younger woman, a less experienced one, would say that it wasn't fair. But Carol had long ago stopped believing in the concept of fairness. It didn't apply in the grownup world. Certainly not in _her_ , grownup world. No, you got what you got, and that's all there was to it. So she needed to stop torturing herself, speculating about a life different than the one she was living.

It was just going to make it all hurt that much more, when it was time to leave tomorrow.

So once she'd resigned herself to the world as it was, she looked back over towards the door. Because she'd just realized it was taking Daryl an awfully long time to get the water, when it was right there in the duffel. But that's when she saw . . . he was gone.

"Daryl?"

There was a bit of a hesitance in her voice, almost (stupidly) like she'd somehow in her efforts to focus on reality, she'd wished him away. But then she heard him call back from the bedroom.

"I'm in here."

Then there was a pause, and a bit of a strain in his voice.

"Can you come look at something please, Carol?"

And feeling those little prickles return to run down her spine . . . God, please not again . . . Carol quickly pushed herself up.

"Coming," she called out to him, as she hurried through the sitting room, and over to the door leading into the bedroom.

That's where she saw Daryl standing on the other side of the King sized bed, over by one of the two vertical sliding windows in the room.

His face was almost pressed flat against the glass.

"What is it?" She asked tightly, almost afraid to know what it was that he was looking at.

And in lieu of an immediate verbal answer, Daryl just put his hand out behind him, and made a gesture for her to come closer.

But he still didn't look away from whatever it was that had his attention.

"Come here," he murmured, "I need you to see something."

The tension was still there in his voice, but that was when she also took note of another sound. Well, another sound besides the shower still running in the bathroom. This was a noise coming from outside . . . one coming through that glass he was right up against. It was the sound of sirens.

Lots of them.

OH JESUS!

So now with Carol's fear of _not_ knowing what was happening, overriding her fear of _knowing_ what was happening, she ran over to where Daryl was standing.

"Are they, are they coming here?!" She stammered, trying to cover over the panic in her voice, as her gaze raked over the parking lot below. It was the one on the west side of the building, not the one nearer the entrance. So there was nothing visible down there but cars.

No people.

But then she felt Daryl's hand fall to her back, just as she saw him shake her head.

The action made her turn to look at him.

"No, no," he soothed with a quick glance, "they're not comin' here," he looked back out the window, "they're goin' over there."

He brought his free hand up, and pointed at something down the street.

"Look," he tapped the glass, "it's that building on the corner. There are already two of them there. I saw the cops run in, four of them, with their guns out. And you can hear more of 'em coming. But the thing is," he squinted and leaned forward . . . though there wasn't much more 'forward' left to lean into, "I can't make out what that building is. It's not a residential home, and it's too small to be a hotel, but there are a decent number of cars in the lot. And there's a sign there in the front, but the letters are kind of small. It's three words though. A big, a medium, and a little one. I made out that much."

He shot Carol another quick glance.

"Can you do any better?"

The building was only maybe a block away, and they were at a good height to see everything, but the damn sign was written in like baby size scrawl. So if he focused too much, the letters kind of blurred together, until he blinked and unfocused. Then he'd get a quick impression of the words, before they'd all go fuzzy again.

It was annoying as shit! So he was hopin' that Carol, with fresh eyes that hadn't been starin' into the bright mid-afternoon sun, would have better luck.

"The last word is . . ." she took another half step forward, bracing her hand on the wall, and her nose against the glass, "four letters. I think it's, uh, yeah," she nodded to herself, "it's _Home_. The last word is 'Home,' with a capital H."

"Home," he repeated slowly, "maybe like a rest home."

"Oh God," she murmured, staring at the building, and now picturing all of those poor old people that could be inside if it was, "I hope not."

Then she blinked and looked away from the scene out the window, trying to clear the sunspots from her eyes.

"Let me see if I can get another one," she continued softly while her lashes fluttered once, before she shifted her gaze back to the sign.

"I see an F," she said after a few seconds. "It's the first letter of the middle word. And I think," she once more blinked and squinted, "there are six or seven letters in that one."

"Could be either six or seven," she said while leaning away from the glass, to squeeze the bridge of her nose, "the middle two keep blurring together."

"So," Daryl's attention shifted away from Carol, and over to the corner again, watching as another cruiser flew into the parking lot, "the sign has three words, last word is Home, middle word has six or seven letters, and it starts with an F."

They were both quiet for a second, but then Daryl heard Carol let out a knowing gasp, just as the answer hit him like a brick.

"It's a God damn funeral home," he whispered as his eyes snapped back to see a SWAT van screaming by their hotel. He let out a heavy breath.

" _Son of a bitch."_

* * *

 _A/N 2: This hotel really exists (sans bookstore/coffee shop), but there really IS a funeral home like a half a block away from it. As soon as I saw it on the map I was like, "OH YES!" because it was a whole new angle that popped into my head. And I realized, you have to figure after the ZA, there are NO funeral directors, embalmers, cremators, or anybody like that, left. That would have been the FIRST line to go down completely. They work in isolated little rooms, surrounded by dead people. They'd all be screwed before anybody else even realized there was a problem. And worse still, a lot of funeral homes have the family home attached to them, so like I said, odds aren't good on any of them surviving beyond the initial days, week._

 _Yes, Criminal Minders, that was a little Morgan, Reid, Emily, cameo, just for you guys :) But for everyone else, as I mentioned in the beginning, that's always been my primary fandom, and I had always joked about eventually writing a CM ZA. I never got around to it, but I just thought the idea lent itself so easily to a story, that the BAU would get called in somewhere to start investigating a series of cannibal attacks and then things just devolve. So if I ever do get around to writing that one, it'll obviously have to be in Atlanta, and Daryl, Carol and Sophia, will have to be the reverse, lobby cameo, there :)_

 _Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, is a line from an old WW2 song, that I figured Daryl would know, and use mockingly :)_

 _As I go through this story and write in all these side characters of people they run into around the city, they're always very vivid to me. So my brain always ends up mentally sketching out their demise too. Because you know, most everybody dies, so how are Toothy Todd, and the Doofus, and his Pleasantly Plump Wife, going to beat those odds? I see Todd going out within the first week, getting it at the desk. He's not looking, he just hears somebody coming, and he looks up with the big, toothy grin and . . . chomp. Maybe at some point I'll do a little side post with a quick series of omniscient vignettes, showing how everybody they run into, made out. It might be fun :)_

 _One more chapter at the hotel, which will take them into events on Sunday. And I've actually already written over a thousand words covering Sunday :) There's kind of a key plot point coming up there, and my brain insisted on ironing all that of out like two weeks ago. Which is great, because that puts us ahead a few hours of writing :)_

 _Once again, thank you all for the wonderful support!_


	9. The Wise Man's Fear

**Author's Note** : This chapter is a monster, and I still didn't get to the part of the story where I'd planned to end the chapter. But the sketch I had in my head, turned out to be more of a 'one thing leads to another,' and I was tipping over into the 13,000 word range, and I still had seventeen more hours of their world to cover, and I was like, 'AAAAAAAAH!' So, long story short, had to regroup :) But even cutting it where I did, by the time it got to final, we came in over 18,000 words. That's thirty-seven Word pages. So you guys might still be reading by the time I get the next chapter finished :)

I was so happy to read in your notes though, that I wasn't the only one excited about the funeral home angle! But please know, if you're reading and eating, maybe pause on the eating for a few minutes, depending on your tolerances. Because remember, the 'flu' has just started digging in its heels at this point, so that funeral home has a decent backlog of bodies lined up ;) So, warning, "ick" ahead.

Direct continuation now, with Carol picking up the ball.

* * *

" _I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again."_

 _\- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar_

 **The Wise Man's Fear**

Carol watched the armored SWAT unit come swinging into the funeral home parking lot, and screech to a stop out by the front entrance. Within seconds, four heavily armed officers had jumped out and were running up the stone steps of the entrance. That was the entrance visible in a side view, from their hotel suite.

It wasn't until the officers had disappeared through those already wide open, oversized doors, that Carol's brow wrinkled.

"I thought SWAT teams were bigger?" She murmured over to Daryl in confusion. And even as he was moving to unlock the window they were standing in front of, she heard him grunt back.

"Think usually they are, but," he shot her a quick glance, "remember that they might be spread a little thin today," the latch snapped back, "you know?"

And then he slid the window a few inches back on the track. Just enough for them to be able to hear what was going on outside. But that humid air which was now seeping in, did nothing to alleviate the fresh chill that was settling over Carol's body. She was picturing how many places that SWAT Unit just might have been sent to that day. Because she had to figure, the events that _they_ were aware of, could only be a FRACTION of the events likely happening all around the city.

That was a terrifying thought.

There were a lot of terrifying thoughts going through her mind right then. Like, what the hell was going on inside that building over there? And the bigger question of course, why did so many people seem to be affected by this new type of violent insanity?

But knowing that Daryl was probably having similar thoughts . . . and questions . . . rolling around in his mind, she chose not to share hers aloud.

She just watched.

And for a few seconds, thirty-two exactly, everything seemed relatively quiet. There was a bit of regular street traffic noise, and the murmuring sounds from the crowd that had started to gather out on the street, but that was all. Though as she looked down at those people . . . a lot of them tourists she was guessing by their clothing . . . Carol wanted to scream out the window. To tell them to run away, run FAR away while they still had the time.

But she knew that they wouldn't listen.

Nobody ever did until they learned the facts of a situation for themselves. And the facts of this _particular_ situation, were admittedly still a little hazy.

Because of the quiet.

Carol's tension levels were continuing to rise though, the longer they stood there with no idea what was going on inside. And she was hoping, praying really, that maybe this incident, whatever it was, had nothing to do with the other things that they'd been seeing. That maybe it was just a fight. A _normal_ , non-crazy people, fight.

One bad enough that the police had to be called in to break it up.

It was a thought that she was sort of holding onto, by the skin of her teeth, until one of the windows down on the back side of the building . . . blew out.

It was another part of the funeral home they could only see in profile.

But the glass hit the ground at such a low level, almost directly out onto the parking lot pavement, that Carol realized it was probably a small basement window that had been broken. And then she saw an arm come out, at the same time somebody began screaming from that open space.

"HELP US! PLEASE HELP US!"

And then there was a screech . . . and the arm disappeared.

That was when all hell started to break loose.

The side doors down front, one of the two sets actually facing their side of the hotel, burst open.

And out came a pale young woman in a churchy type dress, screaming like a banshee . . . the sound alone was enough to set every one of Carol's hairs on end. But then there was the actual sight that went along with the screaming.

The image of the small child on the woman's back.

She was spinning around and around as she stumbled forward, clawing at his body, trying to throw him off. Going by the boy's size . . . small enough that his legs were well off the ground, so definitely pre-adolescent . . . Carol was guessing that he was about Sophia's age. So maybe nine or ten. Dressed in a little suit.

And . . . Carol's fists clenched . . . his teeth were chomping maniacally at the woman's neck.

Then the blood started spurting and spraying everywhere, and that's when Carol had to look away for a moment. Because she knew . . . he'd just gotten those teeth into her throat.

A split second later, when she looked back outside, she saw that he was tearing away at the flesh. Tearing it away and eating it.

Like an animal.

Feeling her stomach flip as her eyes began to burn, Carol's hand flew up to her mouth.

"Jesus!"

The woman's arms fell down to her sides, right when she fell down to her knees . . . it was clear that the fight was going out of her.

She was dying.

Just then though, something else caught Carol's attention, and her gaze snapped back to see one of the Atlanta PD rushing out through the open door behind them. He was yelling something that Carol couldn't make out clearly, but she could see that his nightstick was raised over his head . . . and then he brought it down.

Smashed it right into that boy's skull.

The action made Carol jump. And when she saw that new spray of blood come up, the one from the boy, her tears began to spill over. Because even if he was a crazed little psychopath . . . he was still a child.

And she was watching him getting his brains bashed in.

But still, to her absolute shock, even that bashing . . . and the cop was striking down over and over, hitting his legs and his arms and his face . . . it wasn't enough to make him let go of that woman's neck.

He was just gnawing and chomping. The blood and tissue were flying everywhere. And then there was a tilt . . . and Carol saw that the woman's head had become almost completely detached. It was sort of hanging off to the side, kind of on her shoulder now.

The image brought Carol's tears, to a full blown weeping.

Because it was the worst thing that she had ever seen . . . the worse thing she could ever even _imagine_ seeing . . . and there it was in front of her. At a distance viewed not through a television set, or a movie screen . . . but just in yards. Maybe twenty of them.

From a short, five stories up.

And she might have thought that height would be enough to blur the details of what was happening. But it really wasn't. Because it was a bright, sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky. So the only thing that Carol couldn't see in clear focus, were the color of the eyes on that lolling head. Everything else about the moment, was coming in on a bright, bloody, Technicolor. It was like watching the worst sporting event in the world.

From skybox seats.

But then suddenly the attack stopped.

It had taken maybe six or seven blows, and the officer was drenched in blood by the time he was done, but finally the boy dropped to the ground. The officer stumbled back then, the dripping nightstick in hand, and Carol could see how his face was twisted. There was horror there.

And grief.

Because it must be a terrible thing to have to kill a child, even if the child's actions had taken any real choice away from the person who had to do the killing.

It was a wonder though, that with so many officers having gone inside . . . at least eight now . . . how this had been the only who had come out to try and help that woman.

Christ . . . she thought then . . . what could _possibly_ be happening _INSIDE_ , that was more "urgent," than what was happening _outside_?!

The potential scenarios would have been enough to make Carol's blood run cold, if it hadn't already frozen over.

Then she heard a piercing screech from inside the funeral home, and almost right on top of it, a shot was fired. And the police officer who had killed the boy, spun around on his heel . . . and raced back up the ramp.

He was already pulling out his gun before he'd even cleared the door.

Which was the exact moment that Daryl suddenly pushed her to the other side of the window frame.

"Just in case a shot goes wild," he was muttering tightly, as she felt his hand falling away from her shoulder.

 _Wild_ . . . Carol's lips pursed in grief when she looked over to him, and then back out the window . . . as though things could get wilder than they were now.

With children tearing people apart with their teeth.

That gruesome image was pushed aside . . . temporarily . . . when out of the corner of her eye, Carol saw more people begin to tumble out into the parking lot.

They were coming out from a different door than the one where the attack had just happened. This was the other side exit.

It had a ramp.

And Carol could see these half dozen people, men and women both, black and white, all dressed in their somber, funeral finery. And they were all screaming and trampling each other.

All running from whatever it was coming behind them.

And then that thing came through the door.

It was an old woman, black or . . . Carol squinted through her tears . . . Hispanic maybe, in a blood splattered, purple flowered, dress. One of her arms was missing . . . it looked like it had been torn off quite recently . . . and there was gore all over her face.

It was dripping down from her chin.

And then her head was gone.

Carol let out a gasp, stumbling back a step, just as she heard Daryl yell, "HOLY FUCK!"

And then that blackened spray of blood and tissue and bone, was raining down over the ramp. A millisecond second later, the body dropped forward, falling into that horrendous mess.

Almost immediately after that, one of the SWAT officers came running through the door. This one had a very big shotgun in his hand.

Presumably the one that had just taken off that old lady's head.

It was obvious that he was yelling something to the crowd that was still scattering . . . some of them were actually crawling after they'd been knocked to the ground . . . but Carol couldn't make out clearly what he was saying, except that it was something about being bitten.

 _Don't, don't run if you've been bitten._

 _Stay._

That might have been it. But then he stopped mid-yell. He must have heard something coming up from behind him. Something out of her view. Because he was spinning around, and that shotgun was coming up.

Another blast.

That time though, Carol couldn't see what he hit. It was too far inside the doorway.

From there, hell breaking loose, just became complete and utter chaos.

More shots being fired. More glass breaking. More people fleeing out of different doors.

Sometimes it would just be one person screaming like the devil was on their heels. Sometimes it would be a group of two or three. And Carol knew that no one would have stayed inside that building as long as they had, except for the reality . . . they had to have been stuck there. Because she was guessing . . . based on the number of cars in the parking lot, and the type of clothing on the people who had come out of the funeral home so far . . . that something must have happened during one of the services. Some kind of violence that was so swift and vicious, that people had tried to scatter, but had somehow mostly been trapped. Because there were a lot of rooms in a funeral home. Big ones and little ones.

And generally very few of them had windows, or doors that led directly to the outside.

So these people had probably been hiding, waiting for the police to arrive and clear their room. Which Carol had to guess was the thing that was still happening now. Because every few seconds, there would be another gun shot. Sometimes a whole rat a tat, tat of them.

And then another tiny group would escape.

Those groups didn't all appear to be getting out unscathed though. Actually, very few of them were. Some of them were bleeding from wounds that Carol couldn't make out clearly. But for the ones who were wearing short sleeves or dresses, she could see what looked like chunks missing from their arms or legs.

One man was missing his entire nose.

There was just blood pouring straight out through that hole in his face . . . she almost threw up at that.

The last straw came though, when she saw one of the officers being dragged out the front door. Two of the other uniforms were carrying her. She was screeching and kicking, her boots flailing kind of uselessly out into the air.

The bottom half of her body though, was about the only part of her that seemed to be untouched.

Because the top half of her, it was, well it was like an animal had gotten to her. A bear, or one of the big cats from the wild. That would have been Carol's guess.

If only she didn't know different.

Because outside of the woman's heavy protective vest . . . which seemed to have mostly allowed her chest to remain unharmed . . . the top of her uniform, the sleeves, they were ripped all to shreds. And on both arms, there were multiple bites. Huge pieces of flesh and muscle were missing. Then on her left side . . . Carol swallowed . . . the whole hand was gone. And then on the right, all that remained of _that_ hand, was the index finger and the thumb. And the thumb was dangling off to the wrong angle.

Dangling just like that woman's head had been.

 _OH JESUS!_

"I can't watch anymore."

Hearing Carol's muffled sob, Daryl turned to see that her hands were up, and covering half over the bottom of her face. His jaw twisted as he reached over to touch her shoulder.

She jumped.

"Sorry," he murmured, moving to press his fingertips gently into her shoulder blade, "but why don't you go lie down." His attention shifted back out the window. "I'll keep watch 'til it's over. You know," he shot her another quick glance, "just to make sure none of the crazies get loose and wander in our direction."

What he wouldn't give to have his fucking GUN with him right now! Seriously, he had a God damn CARRY permit, and he'd still left his Smithie at home!

Yeah, well that was sure as SHIT, the last time _that_ was happenin'!

"Um," Carol tried to push down a sob while simultaneously turning to look at the bed behind them, "if you're sure."

"Course I'm sure," he whispered as he let his hand slide a bit so he could give her arm a tug towards the bed. "You just lay down here," he continued softly with another glance out the window, "and close your eyes." He looked back at her.

"It can't go on too much longer."

So with a sniff, and a "'K," Carol moved over to climb up onto the mattress.

And with Daryl still close enough to touch if she needed to . . . the distance from the bed to where he was standing was barely a foot . . . she curled up onto her side, and brought her fist to her mouth.

She was trying to stifle her sobs.

Because it wasn't right that she was acting so weak, when he was still being so strong. Not that she believed the horror out there wasn't affecting him, because it obviously was. The look in his eyes had been off, and the strain in his voice was clear when he spoke. But he wasn't crumbling up about it the way she had. And for that, for having to step away, Carol wanted to apologize. But she knew how Daryl would react to that.

Badly.

So instead she just lay there, sniffing and wiping her eyes, while off in a distance that was far too close, she heard the screams, and gunfire, go on and on.

And on.

There were more sirens too.

Some of them seemed to be of a different pitch than the others. So she was thinking maybe there were ambulances arriving now, in addition to the patrol cars. If there were though, if that was the other pitch, then it seemed like there were a lot of them there already. Maybe even more than had showed up last night. Outside their other hotel.

For the other attack.

She closed her eyes.

Jesus. Was this nightmare actually _following_ them? Or was it just something that was spreading? And if it was spreading, _HOW_ was it spreading? Could it happen to them too?

Could she just suddenly snap and go insane? Could Daryl?

Another tear slid down her cheek.

Or Sophia?

No . . . Carol brought her hands up to scrub at her eyes, trying to wipe those terrible images from her mind . . . NO! There was no point in believing, even in the hypothetical, that something so grotesque could affect them the way these other people were being affected. Because really, logically speaking, her not _knowing_ what the connection was between all of these people who were going mad . . . didn't mean that there _wasn't_ one.

It just meant that was information beyond her.

So yeah okay . . . her brain started to latch onto that idea . . . then maybe later, after Sophia went to bed, she and Daryl could do some research. Maybe rent a computer from down in that business center they had off the lobby. Or God, it was possible just watching the damn news might tell them something! Granted, most of those twenty-four hour news stations were just filled with fear mongers or people who didn't know anything about the topic at hand, but pretending like they did. But every once in a while, those stations did actually, (sometimes she thought, _accidentally_ ), report 'real' news.

And it was hard to believe that there was a bigger news story going, than regular people suddenly turning into cannibals.

But then she remembered . . . the plane crashes. And Times Square burning. _That_ was a bigger news story. Well, really by Carol's estimation the 'cannibal thing' was AT LEAST, on par! But she knew that there was little that those TV media people loved more than a plane crash. And a plane crash in _New York_? No, they would never pull away from that. So yes, it probably would be difficult to find out anything about this wave of violence from the regular news.

Still though . . . she let out a breath as she thought about what they could do for their research that evening . . . it didn't mean they couldn't try.

It was just then, that Carol realized it had been a few minutes since she'd last heard a gunshot.

Or a scream.

At least a "piercing" one. Yes, there were still people outside who were, "yelling," but nobody that sounded like they were in a state of mortal terror. And realizing that the events of this day had actually taught her that there were different, "types of screaming," made Carol feel terribly sad.

More so.

But she knew that wasn't the thing to be dwelling on anyway. Because the real point here was, that she'd somehow managed to distract herself enough by just _thinking_ about what was happening, that she'd been able to stop actually _focusing_ _in_ , on what was happening.

And now . . . please God in heaven . . . based on the sounds from outside, it seemed like maybe the police had gotten things under control.

Maybe it was done.

So she cleared over the lump in her throat, and shifted her eyes up from the stripey bedcovers, and over to Daryl still standing by the window.

Her sentinel.

"Is it over?" She asked on a sniffle.

And she saw him slowly nod, just before he pushed the window shut with an audible click, and turned around.

Their eyes caught then, and she could see that his were still wide and a little panicky.

It was similar to how they'd been during the attack last night.

But then he blinked, and the panic . . . somehow he seemed to mostly push that away. Then he just looked drained.

And sad.

"I think so, yeah." Daryl let out a weary breath. "It seems that they're on cleanup now. They started lettin' the ambulances come through the roadblocks, and looks like they're roundin' up the witnesses to start talkin'. It's the uh," he blinked and looked away, "paperwork stage, I guess is what you'd call it."

Such a strange thing, that so much insanity was gonna boil down to just a buncha notes and pictures, all taken for a file. Like it was just everyday business. Then he thought about how many of these attacks had sideswiped him now . . . six . . . and Daryl realized, to his fairly stunned horror, that it _was_ becoming exactly that.

Everyday business.

And he was just standing there, thinkin' on that point, and what it could mean, when Carol unexpectedly shifted on the bed. The action brought his focus back to the present.

Back to her.

"Sit," she whispered, while patting the top of the bedspread. And he couldn't help but notice that the word, "sit," it had come out on a sigh. Like she was too broken down to even put the oxygen into speaking that one full syllable out loud. And she did kind of look that bad.

And he was wonderin' if he did too.

Not that that mattered, it was just his brain tryin' not to focus on the things that he really didn't want to think about at all. The things that were making him feel like there was an elephant pressin' down on his chest.

And he was about to suffocate.

It was tension, probably. Everything he just saw, kind of manifestin' in a physical way. It had happened before when he'd been through some bad shit.

Like when Momma died.

The sensation was real enough though, that he knew he needed to calm the fuck down before he did have some kind of attack. Heart, breathin', panic . . . whatever. They would all be a real pain in the ass to have to deal with right now. So with the hopes of pushing all that away, and keeping himself from gettin' sick, he did as Carol told him to do . . . he sat. And he let out a tight breath. And he took in another.

After that he repeated the process, in . . . and out. Once . . . and then one more time for good measure.

But unfortunately that slow breathin' thing, it wasn't doing much for him. Because that tight, panicky feeling in his chest . . . it still hadn't gone anywhere.

So he leaned over.

And once he'd let out another breath, he put his palms on his thighs and his head between his knees. And he did that because he remembered hearin' one time a million years ago, that you were supposed to put your head between your knees for something. Maybe this.

Maybe not.

But he figured it couldn't hurt nothing, so he might as well try it out. But after a few more seconds . . . thirty, maybe forty . . . he couldn't say really that the knee thing, was doin' any more for him, than the deep breaths were.

That is, nothing at all.

It was just then though, that he felt Carol's hand on his back. It was warm. And then she was rubbin' these circles, real slow, round and round. He closed his eyes.

That felt all right.

All right enough, that he decided maybe he'd keep his head down a little longer. Just so she wouldn't stop. Because he couldn't remember if anyone had ever touched him that way before. So soft, and gentle. Finally though, after about a minute, even though he didn't sit up . . . her hand stilled.

But she didn't take it away.

"Can I do anything?" She whispered then, her words still heavy, and slightly broken.

And he shook his head, because he just couldn't tell her that those circles were what he needed her to keep doin'. It felt weak, saying it out loud. And the men in his family weren't allowed to be weak.

You get your ass kicked for that.

So instead he just grunted, "ain't nothin' to be done."

Then he slowly leaned back, turning to eye her as he did.

"But would it be okay if I lay down next to you?" He asked with a bit of hesitance, "no funny business, just," he swallowed, "I'd like to do that, if it's all right."

If he couldn't ask her to keep rubbing his back, he just wanted to stay close to her . . . to be near her. Because in his mind he knew that she was over there, tryin' to process the same crap that he was over here. And he'd never had that before.

Someone who shared the same hurt.

Part of him thought for that reason, it might help him to be near to her. The rest of him just straight up wanted her to be by his side.

Either way, all he wanted was for her to say yes.

Hearing the sadness in Daryl's voice, and knowing there was nothing she could do to make it better, Carol's eyes immediately filled with fresh tears.

"Of course you can lay down," she whispered back with a sniffle.

So she shifted over even further, to the full other side of that huge bed. And then Daryl let out another breath and moved back, pulling his legs up as he did so.

His boots came up about a half a foot short from the end of the mattress.

There was a little more shifting from both of them then, before they were both lying still. Him now on his back, using the pillow that she had been a moment before. And Carol, still on her side, with her arms wrapped around herself, but now staring over him in profile.

A couple minutes passed, where neither of them spoke, or made any move to touch the other.

But then finally Daryl cleared his throat.

"That was madness out there," he whispered, "pure madness. And I don't know what to make of it. People biting off fingers and ripping out throats, what the fuck is causing that? Because the people doing it out there this afternoon, like that little boy and that old lady, they didn't look like any damn junkies. And there were more later, after you stepped away, and they all seemed," his lips pursed, "respectable. There was even one towards the end, he looked like the minister from my Momma's old church. For a second I almost thought it was him, but he's been dead now a good five years. This guy today though," Daryl's thumb came up to brush along his lip, "he was a real piece a work. I saw him take a hunk out of this man's arm, and then he jumped on this girl when she was trying to run away. She was about halfway down that back ramp by then. For a second I really thought she was gonna make it out," his voice got faint, "I was rootin' for her. But then," he cleared his throat, "her heel broke and she fell. And he was right there on top of her. But somehow she got herself rolled over, and she was fightin' real good then, screeching at him, and using her legs, trying to kick him off. But he," Daryl's jaw clenched, "well, he got his teeth into her before the cops were able to put him down. Took like six shots before a head one finally did it. Then they pulled him off her. And that girl, she was a real pretty thing, I had seen that when she came out. Skin kinda like a creamy cocoa color, but by the end there, her face was all splattered over with blood. And these two cops, they were tryin' to carry her the rest of the way down the ramp, yelling for help from one of those ambulances that was over behind the yellow tape. But," he shook his head, "it was too late. By then her whole belly was ripped open, blood and guts spillin' out on the pavement. But she wasn't crying or screaming. Not anymore." His voice started to catch, "she was just starin' straight up, like she was looking at something in the sky. I even looked up myself, trying to see what she was seein', but," his words faded off with a whisper, "there was nothing there to see."

Carol brought one of her hands up to wipe the tears off her face. Then she reached over to touch Daryl's cheek.

When his head turned, and his eyes darted over to lock onto her watery ones, she brushed the back of her fingers along his jaw.

"Are you okay?" She choked out, trying to push down a sniffle. Because Daryl had just pretty much broken her heart with that story. So now she couldn't stop herself from the full on weeping again.

But the crying seemed to be catching.

Because just then, a bright watery sheen covered Daryl's eyes, right before he spoke.

"Yeah," he whispered back, his voice breaking . . . though he managed to clear it, "yeah, I'm fine."

Then he blinked and looked away, back up to the ceiling.

And whatever he was trying to see beyond it.

As her hand fell down from his jaw, to land on his shoulder, Carol let out a faint breath and another sniffle.

She was just about to speak again, when she heard the sound of a door opening, and with it, a wafting soapy scent. The bathroom.

Sophia.

Her daughter's name had just popped into Carol's head, when she heard the small voice, whispering from the doorway.

"Mama, Daryl, you sleeping?"

"No baby," Carol quickly wiped her hand over her face, trying to hide the rest of her tears, before she rolled over the other way, towards the door. Towards her daughter. Her daughter who had (thank God) taken her usual forever in the bathroom. And with her combed out, half dried hair, she had just walked into the bedroom wearing her new pajamas. The ones with the little pink and yellow butterflies on them . . . for some reason they made Carol want to start crying all over again.

But she pushed those tears away.

There would always be time for them later.

"We're awake," she continued softly while trying to project some semblance of a smile . . . though it probably came out more like a tight grimace, "just, I had a headache and um," she cleared her throat, "Daryl was keeping me company in here. So if you want to get a snack out of the big bag, and go watch cartoons for a little bit, I'll be over in a few minutes."

The lie, on its face, was plausible enough. That Carol had a headache and had needed to lie down. Because she did get headaches, she even had pills for them, and Sophia knew that. Still though, it didn't seem like her daughter was buying this simple little story that Carol was trying to sell. Because her girl was just standing there, staring, her eyes wide and searching, as she gnawed on her lip. And it wasn't the first time Carol had seen that grownup expression, on that young face.

Because of course that young face had heard her mother lie to her before.

Lies about why Carol had stitches, or new black and blues, that hadn't been there before Sophia left for school that day. And of course the biggest lie of all, was the daily one, that they had to be quiet as mice in the evenings, because daddy was tired . . . not because daddy was drunk. So maybe Sophia was starting to be able to tell now . . . at the ripe old age of ten . . . what was the truth of life, and what was the fiction. Carol bit her lip.

Her baby was being forced to grow up too fast.

But maybe that compelled maturity wasn't all a cause for grief. Because her daughter was a good girl. A kind one. And it seemed that today, on a day when they both desperately needed it . . . that good girl was going to let her mother lie to her again.

And once more, she was going to pretend like she wasn't.

Because after another moment of those young, wise old eyes looking her over, Carol saw her daughter nod slowly. Then she said, "I hope you feel better Mama." After that, she gave her mother a little smile, one so sad that it made Carol's heart hurt . . . and she turned and walked out.

The soapy scent lingered after she left.

A beat passed before the television came on in the next room, and that's when Carol heard Daryl murmur off to the other side, "you think it's gonna mess up her head, seeing us lyin' here together like this?"

And Carol turned, twisting around, to look them both over from head to toe.

They were both fully dressed, with her in her sneakers, and him in his boots, on top of the covers, and a full foot wide gap between their bodies.

She let out a sigh.

"No," she said quietly, while rolling over to face him again, "no, it's not going to cause a problem."

When Daryl's eyes snapped over to hers, her expression softened.

"She'll be fine," she added quietly.

For a moment their eyes remained locked, as both of them lay still. But then Daryl shifted around, turning on his side so he was looking at her directly.

He reached over to take her hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you to step away earlier," he whispered, with real regret in his voice, "you didn't need to see all of that in full color."

"Yes I did," Carol responded with a twist of grief on her face, "I did, because I needed to know what was happening too. Because I never," she swallowed, "well, I just never would have thought it was as bad as it was, if I hadn't seen it for myself. But I thank you for letting me walk away." Her voice started to catch, "and for staying to keep watch when I couldn't do it anymore. I'm sorry about that."

"Oh Carol," Daryl sighed, "you don't really feel badly about that, do you? That you didn't watch to the end?" He shook his head, "because I don't want that. I didn't want any of that for you, but I sure as hell don't want you thinking you're somehow," he scowled, " _less_ , cuz you're sweet, and it hurt you to see those people sufferin'."

"Yeah but," her teeth ground together, "it hurt you too. And you stayed. I just," she blinked and looked over his shoulder . . . to the skyline out the window, "I wanted to be stronger."

"You are strong," he whispered back, "you have to be strong to survive as long as you did with a man like Ed. And you're stronger still for bein' able to leave him."

Her eyes snapped back down to see that he was slowly shaking his head.

"Most women don't," he continued softly, "you know that. Most of them stay and they take it until one of them dies, or just kills the other. But you broke the cycle," he reached over with his other hand to touch her cheek . . . his voice hardened, "so don't you tell me you're not strong."

It was difficult enough for Carol to stop crying about the bad stuff, but if Daryl was going to be sweet . . . she started to sniffle again . . . she wasn't going to have a chance in hell of not ending up with her eyes completely swelled shut.

"Please don't be nice to me right now," she murmured while wiping away a tear that spilled over, "because I'm just going to start crying again, and I already feel like a big blubbery mess."

Daryl's mouth twisted then, into a faintly wry smile.

"You're not a mess, Carol," he answered quietly, "you just care. More people should care, but I can see your eyes are about ready to spill over, so I'll stop now because I don't wanna make you cry again, but," he quickly shifted gears while giving her fingers a little squeeze, "you remember what I said. A kind heart doesn't make you weak, it makes you stronger. You got it?"

"Yeah," she gave him a watery smile, "I got it. And you know," she sniffed, "you made me feel better about that, so don't tell me you don't have a kind heart too."

"Well," he grunted, "mine's probably a little blacker than yours but," his lip quirked up, "I'm glad you feel better. I do too actually. A little bit anyway. Which is kind of funny because," his mouth twisted, "about five minutes ago I was good and ready to jump out that window, but," he brought his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "I think now, I might stick around a little longer."

"I'm glad," she whispered, "I just wish I was going to be around to see it."

Seeing Daryl's hand fall, as his eyes immediately snapped over to hers, Carol was afraid that she might have gone too far, by talking about the thing that they didn't talk about directly. But then she saw his expression soften, right before he looked away. And she figured then that it was okay, what'd she'd said.

He just didn't know what to say back.

So they just laid there for a few more minutes, with him still holding her hand as he stared down at the pattern on the bedspread, and her, well her just blatantly staring over at him. Taking in each of those handsome features on his face, and the fine muscles along his jaw line, and the stronger ones, fully visible in his arms and outlined on his chest.

His shirt was fitted enough that she could see almost all of them.

Even the faint outline of his abs.

And she wished, in an abstract way, that she could reach over and touch them. Run her fingertips along that smooth, bronzed skin she'd seen last night, and commit the feel of those muscles to her tactile memory, as much as her sight was committing it to the visual.

It would be something to take with her when she left.

But being a middle aged, (married, by technicality) woman, with a young daughter in the next room, clearly, feeling up the man next to her was out of the question. So instead Carol just closed her eyes, and tried to commit all of these new images (these _comforting_ images) to her mind.

She was hoping maybe they'd push off some of the darker ones she'd already picked up that day.

But when she heard Daryl whisper, " _you fallin' asleep?_ " she slowly opened her eyes again.

"No," she shook her head, feeling the smooth cotton of the pillowcase brush against her cheek, "just thinking. I'm pretty sure I won't be falling asleep anytime soon." Her lips pursed, "not with the stuff I'm afraid I'll be dreaming about."

"Yeah," Daryl sighed, "sleeping is probably gonna suck tonight. But we got some hours 'til then. And if we get lucky, it'll be a quiet evenin'. If it is, then maybe we'll pick up some better things to remember before it's time for bed."

Carol's eyes crinkled.

"Funny, that was exactly what I'd just been thinking about. Trying to find nicer memories to take away from today, than the ones we saw out that window."

She saw Daryl's lip quirk up a bit at that, before he asked with a soft voice, "you having any luck?" And she looked at him for a moment, before she reached over with her free hand . . . the one he wasn't holding . . . to press her palm against his bicep.

"Yeah," she closed her eyes for a second, feeling that hard muscle, right beneath the smooth, tanned, skin, "I am."

"What are you doin'?" He whispered, with the confusion so obvious in his voice, that that she couldn't help but huff.

And her lashes slowly opened again.

"Just making a memory," she answered with a soft smile and a quiet voice, while her fingers curled back to her own side of the bed, "that's all."

It was clear that was not the answer he was expecting. Because he just kind of looked at her for a moment with a weird fascination, before he finally blinked and dropped his eyes back down.

Just before he looked away though, she saw a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. And she knew . . . her answer had pleased him. And honestly, she could have laid there in bed with that man for hours, with both of them fully clothed, and barely touching, and she still would have been perfectly content. But mothers didn't get to do things like that.

Lie around that is, and do absolutely nothing at all.

She had to get up.

Even though she didn't want to.

And Daryl seemed to pick up on the shift in her mood, or maybe the new tension in her muscles . . . she was priming them to roll over and stand up . . . because he squeezed her fingers.

"What's the matter?"

"Just," she sighed, "I feel like a terrible mother leaving Sophia all alone in there, because I know that she already knows that something's wrong. And I don't want her to be alone and getting nervous. But at the same time," her brow knitted together, "I know that I'm still not in a good mental place yet, and I'm worried that she'll pick up on that, and it'll just get her agitated. You know like she has been after each time something's happened. I just want to protect her from this one," Carol bit down on her lip, "but I'm not sure how."

Daryl reached over to pat her arm.

"I'll go sit with her," he said while immediately letting her fingers go, to start to push himself up, "she can't read me as well as she does you." Then he turned to look over his shoulder, "you can stay here and rest or," he shrugged, "go take a shower or something. You know, just kill a little time 'til you feel more like yourself again."

"But," Carol cut in worriedly, while at the same time immediately following him up into a sitting position, "are you sure you don't mind keeping her company? Because I know," her expression softened, "well I know that she's not your responsibility, and I don't want you to feel obligated to help me with her. I mean," her jaw twisted, "I appreciate it more than you can know, that you have been helping so much, but I just don't want you to think it's expected."

For a moment Daryl just stood there, staring at her across the bed. Then his expression contorted into something that looked almost painful, before he slowly shook his head.

"I'm surprised you don't understand by now," he answered with a quiet exhale, "but I am very much responsible for that girl. Her and you both. Ever since I met you, since I chose to stay with you," he gave her a hard look, though she could see the sadness in his eyes, "that was me _choosin_ ' to be responsible. The fact that I like you guys so much, that came after. And that's just a bonus. But the bein' responsible for you," he gave her a firm nod, "that stays 'til we part."

And with that, Carol saw him swallow . . . and then he walked out of the room.

The next thing she heard was, "hey, darlin', whatcha watchin' on TV?"

And as Sophia and Daryl began to talk about a cartoon movie, Carol turned to look across the bed and out the window. The window on a world that seemed to be hell bent on falling apart. While off behind her, in that other room, she had a man who was just trying to keep things together. Her eyes started to water again.

 _Which one of them was going to win?_

/*/*/*/*/*

Carol whipped the plastic curtain back with a scrape of the shiny shower curtain rings, along the metal rod.

The bathroom was filled with steam.

As she stepped out onto the small gold bathmat, and looked to the far wall, a quick glance at the clock hanging there showed her that it was almost five. Which was nearly forty minutes since the time when Daryl had left her in the bedroom, thirty minutes since she'd actually left the room herself, and twenty plus minutes since she'd gotten into the bathroom.

In that last bit of in-between time, she'd had some water from the bathroom tap . . . all of that crying had made her feel a little dehydrated . . . before ten doing a quick check-in with Daryl and Sophia in the sitting room.

They were watching Toy Story.

When last she'd seen him, Daryl was slumped back on the couch with his boots on the coffee table, and a bottle of water in his hand. That was while Sophia was sitting cross legged on the fluffy brown carpet, with a juice box and a half empty package of peanut butter crackers scattered around her feet.

They'd both given her a little smile when she'd poked her head in.

Which meant . . . Carol reached over to pick up a towel . . . that they seemed to be doing fine. Or more specifically . . . she started drying herself off . . . _Sophia_ seemed to be doing fine. So yeah, whatever magical calming effect Daryl's presence had on Carol, it definitely seemed to work with her daughter too. Because all evidence of that earlier 'old soul weariness,' that she'd seen on Sophia's face, was gone. She was just a little girl again.

A sweet little kid happily giggling at a silly movie, that she'd loved to watch since she was a baby.

It had done Carol's heart good to see it.

And she'd stooped down to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek, before she'd called over her head to Daryl . . . who she'd seen was watching the two of them closely . . . that she was going to take a shower. He'd given her a wave and a head tip, which Carol took as him being fine babysitting a little longer.

So from there, she'd gathered their bags up and dragged them into the bedroom so she could dig out her new toiletries/pajamas. And now again, twenty'ish minutes later, she was smelling of apple shampoo, and Milk and Honey body wash, while she pulled on her new pink plaid pajama pants, with the matching solid pink PJ tank top.

It was amazing how much a shower and clean clothes could help clear a person's mind.

Not that Carol wasn't still thinking about what had happened at the funeral home. Or that she wasn't still sad and sick, and just downright terrified, by what she'd seen there. Because she absolutely was, on all points. Those thoughts and feelings weren't going away anytime soon. But now they were manifesting more by a faint ache in her chest, rather than the half hysterical sobbing fits that had been gripping her earlier.

Clearly the _ache_ , was a marked improvement.

And maybe she was feeling better because of the hot shower, or because of her alone time with Daryl, or maybe just because she was getting a slight bit of distance from the moment.

Most likely it was probably a combination of all three.

Whatever it was though, at least the images that flashed in her head now . . . and they were still flashing . . . weren't quite so 'viscerally' upsetting, as they had been the first time.

The nerve was getting a little less raw.

Still though . . . Carol moved on to pick up her deodorant . . . she knew that if she allowed herself to dwell too much on those mental pictures, slight distance or not, she was just going to send herself down another ugly path.

And God knew she didn't need that.

Because if things kept going on the way they were, there would be enough ugly paths to traverse in her immediate future, without forcibly projecting herself down another.

And with that final thought on the funeral home attack, Carol tried to move on to make herself focus in on more mundane matters.

Like whether or not she needed to go put on a bra.

Because as the steam was now clearing from the bathroom, she'd just noticed that her nipples were beginning to poke through the fitted pink material. It was a silly thing to be thinking about under the circumstances, she knew that. But she had to figure that if her nipples were already becoming a bit of a distraction to her . . . and she hadn't even been out of the warm bathroom yet . . . then over the coming hours, they were much more likely to become a real distraction for Daryl.

Especially given that most of those hours ahead of them, were probably going to consist of them just sitting around not doing anything. Or at least they would if, God willing, everything stayed quiet. And actually, just thinking about something else happening, (and them maybe having to make a fast getaway) was enough to push Carol's decision over the top.

She was definitely going to have to put on a bra.

And fortunately she did have one sports bra packed in with her underwear. So after she'd wiped down the vanity and straightened out her towels, she slipped out of the bathroom, and over to the bedroom where she'd left the bags.

It only took her a minute to dig out the article she was looking for.

From there, with the door still half open, she quickly yanked her top off, and the sports bra on. Then she slipped the tank back down, now to cover over the grey cotton material.

She felt a little better then. More secure if something else bad did happen.

And less "loose," if something didn't.

Because really, it would have seemed like she was being a tease or something, just walking around in front of Daryl with everything all on display. And with the cranked up AC in this place, just over these few seconds while she was changing, her nipples were already to the 'full peak' stage. At least now though when she looked down, the thickness of the sports bra mostly covered that over.

Which was good enough.

Because really, Daryl already knew that she had breasts, it was just a matter of not shoving the tips on them right into his face. That point had been addressed . . . so she moved on.

Specifically to walk over and peek through the window blinds that she'd closed right before she went into the shower. Not that she wanted to see anything out there . . . God knew that she didn't . . . she just wanted to know if they were done cleaning up yet.

After all, it had to have been at least ninety minutes or so now, since the last shot was fired.

It was clear to Carol though, when she pulled down that thin white plastic panel, that they were nowhere _NEAR_ to done cleaning up yet. There was a crime scene unit down there now, putting down little flags. They hadn't even started taking the bodies away.

That was obvious at a glance.

So she let the blind snap back. Because there was no reason to get a fresh look at the carnage . . . once was already going to cover her for a lifetime. So she fixed those blinds back tight, and then pulled the heavy blackout curtains over them as well. Because Heaven help them all if Sophia got a glimpse of what was going on outside that window.

Speaking of Sophia . . . Carol's brow wrinkled as she turned around . . . she should probably go check on her again.

A quick poke of her head out into the hallway though, showed that her daughter was still happily settled in on the floor of the sitting room, laughing at her movie.

And figuring that this was as good a time as any to get their new clothes sorted, Carol turned back to hurriedly begin pulling out all of the plastic bags that she hadn't already, and dumping the contents down on the bed. Then she started yanking off tags and pulling off stickers, like it was her damn job. After that, she folded everything up . . . the plastic bags included, they might come in handy . . . and neatly tucked it all away again.

Everything except the new underwear.

That she brought into the bathroom, where she gave them a hasty scrub in the sink, using a steady stream of warm water, and two pumps of the hand soap. And she did that because she always washed new underwear before they wore it.

Otherwise you were just asking for a yeast infection.

And on top of EVERYTHING else going on in her life, lady part issues were the _last_ freaking thing Carol needed. Fortunately it didn't take her more than another five minutes or so, to get the underwear all rinsed, wrung out and slung over the top of the shower curtain rod.

The plan was to leave their underthings there just long enough to get the drips out, and then move it all over to the bedroom, to finish drying on the hangars in the closet.

That way Daryl wouldn't have ladies, (and little girls'), cotton briefs, all flapping in his face when he was in there trying to take his shower.

Now that all that was done though, she did another wipe down of the puddles on the counters, and turned out the light.

Just before she stepped back out into the short hallway that covered from the bedroom to the sitting room, Carol heard Sophia say, "…that's the lady potato, Mr. Potato Head's wife. Mrs. Potato Head."

And then Daryl's response.

"I didn't know there was a Mrs. Potato Head."

There was a pause then, before Sophia let out on a sigh, "yeah, my friend Jennifer had one, but she never let me play with it."

"Hmm," came the responding grunt from Daryl, "sounds like Jennifer was a little snit."

And even as Carol's mouth quivered, because Jennifer Levy was indeed a little snit, she heard, "what's a snit?"

Another pause . . . and then, "probably a word your mama would prefer I didn't teach you, so maybe you could just forget I said it."

And feeling another faint touch of amusement pushing against the heaviness wearing on her, Carol's eyes crinkled as she heard the, "okay, I'll forget it," that she knew was probably being accentuated by a firm nod of her daughter's head.

Sophia was very good at listening to instructions.

And not wanting either Sophia or Daryl to know that she had indeed heard the 'snit exchange' . . . it would just make Daryl feel uncomfortable . . . Carol gave it another twenty seconds before she walked into the sitting room.

Sophia was still sitting cross legged on the floor. And Daryl was still slumped back on the couch with his arms crossed, and his boots on the edge of the coffee table.

His water bottle was nowhere to be seen.

And when she stepped through the doorway, and he spotted her there, she saw his eyes snap up and over to hers.

"Get everything done you wanted to?" He asked softly, and she nodded.

"Yeah," she started walking over to join him on the couch, "I'd just wanted to get the new clothes sorted out and a few things rinsed so they'd be dry before bed. Which reminds me," her mouth quirked up in a bit of an apologetic smile, "if you have to go into the bathroom, FYI, there's a lot of underwear on the shower rod. I'll collect it in a little bit."

The corner of Daryl's mouth twitched.

"Thank you for the warning," he responded drolly, before reaching over to pat the couch cushion next to him.

"Now sit."

So she sat. Mostly over in her own spot, but still close enough that the leg she had folded under her, was brushing against his thigh. Their bare arms were doing the same. Again, only a brush though.

She just wanted to be near him.

"So how you guys doing?" She asked softly, once she was settled back on the couch. And he grunted a bit.

"We're fine. Watching Toy Story number two now." He shot her a look, "just started."

"Number two, huh," Carol murmured, her gaze drifting over to follow his back to the TV, "do you want me to take her into the other room to finish it?"

Given that children's animation probably wasn't Daryl's cup of tea, she was expecting that he'd need a break from it by now. So it was actually kind of a surprise, when she saw him shake his head.

"Naw, it's fine. Actually," his eyes shifted over and down to hers, "after all that other stuff, it's not so bad watchin' something silly and innocent. It's kinda," his lips pursed, "well, it's not hurting anything that's for sure."

"I get that," Carol nodded slowly as her gaze shifted back to the TV . . . the Potato Heads were fighting about something, "but," she looked back at him and whispered, "just tell me if starts to get annoying, and she and I can relocate."

"Yeah well," he answered in the same soft tone, while turning to give her a look, "unless it's your preference, I'd kinda rather you didn't relocate."

Her lip quirked up a bit at that.

And then he leaned closer, and pressed his lips to her ear.

"You smell really good."

Both the words, and his proximity when he'd said them, caused a hot flush to hit her cheeks. And she couldn't help but give him a shy smile as she brought her hand up to try and cover the unexpected blush. In response he reached over and took her other hand, the one between them, just like he had in the bedroom. Just like it was the most normal thing in the world. She let out a soft sigh.

It was really nice.

It was more than that, even. Because now he was doing that thing where he rubbed his thumb on her wrist. And right away, she started to feel that sense of calm again. Her husband, he had never done anything like that. Just sat on the couch with her and held her hand. Even before they got married, back in the "courting" stage, when he was hiding all of his worst parts from her, Ed didn't do sweet things like that. Anytime they were alone on a couch, he just went right for second base. It was all about him, and what he could get from her.

There was never any tenderness there.

Not like she felt when Daryl took her hand. It wasn't just the tenderness he gave her though, there was also a spark there when his skin touched hers. One that made her feel . . . she bit her lip . . . alive.

Alive for the first time in years.

And Carol had come to realize, she wasn't the only one feeling that spark. Because with the way Daryl talked to her, and the way he looked at her, there was definitely something there for him too. So she was thinking . . . in that pie in the sky dreams sort of way . . . that maybe, someday, if she got her act together and got herself a job and saved a little money, perhaps she and Sophia could move to a suburb north of the city. And maybe on that someday, she'd give Daryl a call and see if he was still a single man, and if he was, if he might want to go out for chicken nuggets sometime.

They could meet somewhere halfway.

It might have been a farfetched dream, but for a woman that had very little in her life, nothing really besides her daughter, sometimes a farfetched dream like that was important. It gave her something to work towards besides just a stable home for Sophia. Because that dream would be something just for Carol.

A man.

One who she was sure would be kind, and treat her nice. But really though . . . she blinked away the unexpected moisture forming in her eyes . . . why did that have to be just a dream?

To have a nice man in her life who cared about her.

Why couldn't that . . . _shouldn't_ that . . . just be part of her plans for the future? Why did she deserve less, just because she'd been getting by on less for all these years? Well, to hell with the old ways, right? Wasn't that the whole point in running away from Ed?

To try and find some safety and happiness out there in the world.

And she already felt both safe, and happy, with Daryl. Of course she wasn't silly enough to think that the two of them were 'fated to meet,' or any other kind of fairytale nonsense like that. Her life had been too hard for her to still believe in fairytales. No, he was just a nice, very handsome man, who she'd found both an attraction to, and a connection with. It was an unexpected bonus that he was so good with her daughter too. And what were the odds, really, at Carol finding another man like that? At her age, no less?

Exactly.

So why, well . . . she took in a slow breath, feeling an edge of excitement (and anxiety) washing over her . . . why not try to pursue it?

The Big Picture Plan, that is.

Maybe that could be something she could talk to Daryl about before they left. Tomorrow though . . . she slowly exhaled . . . definitely not tonight. Because if he didn't have any interest in seeing her again . . . just because they had a connection now, didn't necessarily mean that he'd want to put a bookmark in his life for later . . . then she didn't want to make things awkward. Not when they had a good five or six hours of 'awake time,' left in the day.

That would just be dumb.

"Mama, I'm hungry."

Carol's attention snapped away from her internal thoughts, and over to her daughter sitting on the carpet. She had twisted around, away from the TV.

And she was rubbing her stomach.

"Hungry?" Carol repeated the word as she looked over to the clock on the cable box . . . five-fifteen.

"Oh yeah," she gaze shifted over to Daryl still looking down at Sophia. "It is kind of dinner time," she finished softly.

The thought of food was not particularly appealing to Carol's stomach, but that was clearly not a valid reason to make her daughter starve. And the Kmart snacks they'd bought consisted of only Daryl's replenished jerky supply, her little packets of dried fruit, a can of nuts, and those packages of peanut butter and crackers Sophia had broken into. None of those things were filing enough, even all together really, to count as a full meal. Especially when her daughter had only eaten one meal so far that day.

Six hours ago.

And that was after missing two meals yesterday.

Jesus . . . Carol felt a stab of guilt . . . she really was starving her baby! So slightly off put stomach or not, she immediately turned back to Daryl.

"How do we get food?"

The worry was clear in her tone, because obviously they weren't going to leave the hotel, but the hotel had no room service. Just a continental breakfast service.

Which didn't start until eight am tomorrow morning.

"Umm," Daryl's brow furrowed as he bit down on his lip. Because this was not a point that he'd had too much worry on earlier. Back when they'd first arrived, and he'd gotten out of the cab, he'd seen that there were a few take out places not far down the block, on the same side of the street as the hotel. So at the time, with food not being a priority at all, he'd just figured he could run out and pick something up. A brisk eight minute, round trip walk, hadn't seemed too risky at the time.

But clearly his calculation of "risk," had changed considerably since then.

There would be no leaving the hotel again until they were able to jump directly into a cab out front, sometime late tomorrow morning. Still though . . . his gaze snapped back over to Sophia with her hand on her belly . . . the little one had to eat. Really, they all did. But unlike with him and her mama, she had no nasty pictures in her head, to help with the tampin' down on her appetite.

And he was wondering if maybe he could go down and bribe Todd to get him some milk and cereal out the kitchen . . . they had to have some kind of kitchen if they served a breakfast . . . when suddenly he flashed on another idea.

Something else related to Todd.

"The check-in packet," he murmured to Carol as his boots dropped to the carpet, "where did we put it?"

And he saw her eyes dart away from his and around the room.

"Oh," she pointed towards the wall leading towards the hall, "there, I dropped it on the desk. Why? What's in the packet?"

"Hopefully food," he answered while pushing himself up, "because I remember now that Todd said there was information about the area in there. And," he started cutting around the coffee table, "I'm pretty sure that when I was flipping down to the signature pages, I saw a couple flyers from local restaurants." He stopped at the desk to shoot Carol a look over his shoulder.

"At least one of them should deliver."

And seeing her expression brighten some at that information, he turned back to pick up the packet. Then he started slowly turning the pages. This time actually reading to see what each one was about, and not just trying to get to the end.

It turned out, his hunch about the flyers had been right.

Because four pages down, he found a blue mimeographed sheet from a local pizza place. And then the next page was a glossy, color one, from a BBQ joint, and then . . . he kept flipping . . . nothing. Well, a blurb about a fancy restaurant on the other side of the stadium, but generally fancy places didn't deliver. So he flipped back up, and pulled out the blue flyer from the pizza place.

The BBQ one he looked at for a second, his eyes taking in the big front and center picture of a big old slab of juicy ribs, before his mouth twisted.

And before he gave it even another thought, he ripped out that page and crumpled it into a tight ball.

He whipped it into the trash.

Because after the things he'd seen that day, there was no way in creation, he was eatin' BBQ for dinner! Hell, he'd sooner do a full B&E on the hotel kitchen, than smell cooked flesh at the moment. Which also meant that hamburgers were out for dinner. But . . . he turned around and started walking back over to the couch . . . if Sophia showed any interest in gettin' a burger, he'd just tell her, well, he'd just say no. And a quick look at Carol's slightly queasy face as she stared down at the menu in his hand, made him feel pretty confident she'd back him on that one.

So after he'd settled down again next to her on the couch, he put the only remaining menu on the table in front of them.

"It's a pizza and sandwich place," he said quietly, "and if they've got a menu in the packet, I'm sure they'll deliver here. So," he looked up and over to Sophia still sitting on the floor . . . the movie temporarily forgotten, "darlin' why don't you come pick something. Just," his nose wrinkled a bit as she started to stand up, "no burgers, please."

"No," Carol quickly piped in, "no burgers please, honey. It's um," her lips pursed, "the smell. You know sometimes my headaches make me a little nauseous."

"That's okay," Sophia gave a little shrug while dropping to her knees on the other side of the coffee table, "I don't feel like a hamburger anyway."

Then she looked up first at her mother, then over to Daryl.

"Do they have grilled cheese?"

Daryl's lip quirked up . . . God bless that child. So he quickly looked down, and ran his finger along the sandwich options. And when he didn't see it there, he moved over to the little kid section of the menu.

"Yep," he nodded after another second, "they do. In the kid's area." His eyebrow quirked up, "are you real hungry? Because it doesn't come with nothing. I can get you two though if you want. Or maybe," he shot a look over to Carol, "some fries or something?"

And he saw Carol, the final decider on the French fry question, nod.

"Yep, she can have a side of fries if she wants. And I think um," Carol tapped the plain Caesar salad on the bottom of the page, "just a Caesar for me please."

Though she wasn't hungry now, she probably would be later. And besides that, she could not keep skipping meals.

It wasn't healthy.

Now granted, a Caesar salad, even a large one, was not a huge amount of food. It was mostly just lettuce. But if she supplemented it with some of the dried cranberries and nuts, she'd be fine.

And then she was thinking that maybe Daryl might actually have been reading her mind on that point, because she saw him pointing at a different line on the menu.

"Sure you don't want the Cobb one?" He asked her with that faintly concerned eyebrow she was coming to know a little too well, "it's got more stuff in it, so it might fill you up better."

Carol leaned over to read the description he was pointing at, and her nose wrinkled.

"It has chicken," she looked back up at him, "and I'm feeling kind of not big on meat tonight."

His expression softened.

"Yeah," he gave her knee a gentle pat, "I get that, but I'm sure we can get it without the chicken if that's what's bothering ya."

"Well," she bit her lip, "yeah, okay. If they'll do it without the chicken then I guess that would be a more filling meal. But if they say no substitutions or something, then just," she gestured back to the Caesar, "the Caesar's fine."

"K," he nodded, his attention then shifting back over the table, "and you want the grilled cheese with the side of fries?"

Sophia nodded.

"Yes, please, Daryl. Thank you."

And his mouth twisted in kind of a sad way.

"You've got very good manners Miss Sophia." He shot Carol a soft look, "your mama did a good job."

A sweet, well behaved, well mannered little girl, and her kind hearted mama. The two of 'em together probably weighed less than he did, and he wasn't a bit on the chubby side. So how the HELL, were these two gonna make it on their own in a city getting as violent, and fucked up as this one was becoming?

It was a recurring thought that kept chaffing at him, the more bad things that kept happening. And he had an idea floatin' in the back of his head, kinda like a balloon . . . but one he kept battin' away. Because he was sure that Carol'd probably think he was nuts if he said that idea out loud. He wasn't even sure if his idea was the best option for them anyway.

They needed more than what it would give them.

Still though, seeing that soft, proud smile on her face when she looked over at her daughter, he couldn't picture just driving off and leavin' the two of them tomorrow. It was gonna be like when he was little and he saw old man Burley throw those kittens in a sack, and toss them into the river. Daryl had jumped right in after 'em, but he'd only been six years old at the time. Too little to hold his breath for long. So he hadn't found that sack until it was too late to save the kittens inside. For years he'd felt so guilty about that.

Like it was his fault that they'd died.

It wasn't until he was older, and a little wiser, that he'd finally realized it wasn't his fault. Those little creatures had been doomed the second they were out of his sight. And the problem was, he was starting to get that same sinkin' feeling, every time he thought hard about leaving Carol and Sophia alone.

'Cept this time . . . his stomach clenched . . . he'd be the one tossing the sack in the river.

The thought was upsetting enough, that he had to look away from them. But Carol must have sensed the change in his mood, because then he felt her hand on his back.

It was like she'd done over in the bedroom.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, with enough worry in her tone that he felt a stab of guilt. Because her nerves were still so on end, she probably was thinking that he'd just heard something new. He was makin' her worry.

And he didn't want that.

So he quickly worked up a faint smile . . . and he had enough growin' affection for those two ladies for it to be a genuine one . . . and looked back over.

"I'm fine," he nodded, his eyes crinkling a bit, "just thinkin. Um," he slowly stood up then, feeling her hand fall away as he did, "I'm gonna call this order in so the delivery guy won't have to be out after dark. Well," he tipped his head, "he might still be out after dark, but," he let out a grunt, "at least that won't be on my conscience."

So with Carol still eyeing him while he walked away, Daryl returned to the desk on the other side of the room. And after he'd picked up the phone and dialed 9 for an outside line, just like the little phone sticker told him to, he called that pizza/sandwich place up. And as was his suspicion, they did indeed do regular deliveries to the hotel. He just had to promise to meet the guy out at the front entrance.

And that . . . just stand by the front door . . . Daryl could do.

Which meant from there, it was a pretty quick process of puttin' their order in. The grilled cheese plus a side of fries for Sophia, the Cobb salad minus the grilled chicken, for Carol, and then for him, an order of cheesy fries, and a large vegetarian submarine sandwich.

Easy on the onions.

Yeah, that was the first God damn time in four decades of living, that Daryl Dixon had gotten a "vegetarian" anything. But every time he'd looked at even the plain chicken options on the menu, he just kept flashing on that boy tearing that lady's throat out with his teeth.

So even if it wasn't bleedin', meat just seemed like a real bad choice tonight.

But he wasn't opposed to vegetables, he just preferred 'em generally if they were topped off by something that had once moo'd or clucked around a farmyard. And so as he hung up the phone, he was figuring that his regular appetite would be back by the next meal time. His brain just needed him to give it a window to process all the God damn _CANNIBALISM,_ he'd seen that day! Because even after decades of hunting, and gutting and cleanin' his own game, he still had no mental reference point for that kind of bloodlust.

It was something new.

But of course he wasn't the only one with those new pictures rollin' around. So when he turned to face the ladies staring up at him, he made sure to make eye contact with Carol.

Because he was about to say something she wasn't gonna like.

"Gonna be 'bout forty minutes," he explained, "but uh . . ."

And he paused. Because he knew that this was the part that wasn't gonna go over at all well with her. Figuring though, that maybe it'd go a little better if he wasn't quite so far away when he said it, Daryl walked over and stooped down in front of her.

Then he took her hand.

"I gotta meet him outside," he finished softly.

And sure enough, he saw those big blue eyes widen.

" _Outside_?" she repeated sharply as he felt her nails dig into his palm, "you have to go _out_ of the building?"

"Yeah, but only to the other side of the front door," he quickly tried to explain so she wouldn't panic, "I ain't steppin' a foot further than that, Carol. I promise you. Not one step further. They just won't let the delivery guys come inside the building. That's all."

Funny, he wasn't generally in the business of makin' promises to people. Probably mostly because he considered a promise to be an important thing, something to be taken seriously, and he didn't have that many people in his life that he felt ranked high enough to be worthy of that kind of pledge.

Yet here he was making that pledge to Carol.

And all so she'd feel better about _him_ doing something so simple as standin' still in front of a building. But of course in this city, going outside at all, even if you weren't goin' far, had kind of stopped bein' a simple thing. And he could see from the hard look Carol was giving him, that she didn't at all approve of him leaving the building. Finally though, the hard look shifted to a softer one, and she bit down on her lip.

"You promise not to go any further?" She asked worriedly, "like if he wants you to go meet him on the street or something, you won't go? Because we can just eat the crackers and fruit if we have to."

For Daryl, hearing that fear in her voice, and knowing how she was probably picturing how quickly those people had been attacked right on the doorstep of the funeral home, his expression softened.

He brought his free hand up then, to cup her cheek.

"On my word," he whispered, "I promise I won't go to the street or the parking lot."

She nodded slowly.

"Okay," she squeezed his hand, "and you'll come right back inside if anything out there doesn't look right?"

He brushed his thumb along her cheek.

"Yep," he nodded, using the same quiet tone, "I'll come right in, and I'll come right back upstairs. I ain't gonna die gettin' French fries, Carol." His lip quirked up in a faint smirk, "because that would just be straight up embarrassin'."

Seeing Carol's mouth quiver a bit as her eyes crinkled, Daryl knew he'd finally punched through that fear that was starting to choke her again. But the fear was understandable.

 _More_ , than understandable.

After all, he'd been fighting against it himself. And if he was honest, it hadn't really gone away for him either. It was just that he couldn't let it dictate his behavior. Yeah, he needed to stay smart, but part of bein' smart was knowing what was a real risk, and what was just fear trying to cripple him. And him refusing to walk downstairs in broad daylight, to the front door of a busy hotel, well, that woulda been him lettin' himself be crippled.

And what kinda man would he be then?

So no, he just needed to push through this, while he kept keepin' an eye out for the next thing that might be comin'. Even if he didn't know when that would be.

He was just praying it would be after he got out of the God damn city.

Of course that thought, that horribly selfish one, only served to remind him yet again . . . he was the only one leavin' town tomorrow. So the next thing that came along . . . the ladies were gonna still be here for that. And picturin' them getting caught up in a thing like what he'd seen happen next door, actually made his eyes burn. And with his stomach now filled with a lead ball, his hand fell away from Carol's cheek.

Shit.

"Think I'm gonna uh," his voice was husky as he scrubbed his hand across his forehead while he slowly backed up, "go count out the money for the guy."

Then he took a sharp turn on his heel and started out of the room. From behind him though, he could hear Carol's hesitant, and slightly confused, "okay, um, we'll be here."

He waved his hand over his shoulder.

"Yep."

After Daryl had disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door, Carol just stared after him with absolutely NO idea what had just happened. Obviously he was covering over for something.

She just couldn't figure what that was.

Because it was like he went out of his way to make her feel better about him going outside . . . because yes, she was on the verge of climbing out onto a ledge over that point . . . and then, while he was still looking at her, he'd just suddenly freaked out for his own reasons. And there had been real fear there in his eyes.

It had kind of scared her.

And she wanted to go after him to see what was wrong, but he had obviously been very deliberate about walking out to get some separation. And with Ed, she'd never even think about going after him when he was upset.

That would just be a guaranteed black eye.

Clearly that was not a worry with Daryl. Still, maybe it would be better to not bother him. After all, it had to be quite an adjustment for him having 'women' constantly around him all weekend, so maybe he just needed a little space to work out whatever he needed to work out.

Yeah . . . she let out a slow breath . . . hopefully that would do it.

So she tried to go back to watching this mindless cartoon movie with Sophia. Because somehow her daughter . . . who had only basic cable, plus her daddy's deluxe sports package at home . . . had managed to find the HBO Family Channel, here at the hotel.

And that channel seemed to be doing a full Pixar marathon for this Saturday afternoon/evening.

Right now they it was still Toy Story Two, but the little crawl in the corner said that number three was coming up next. It was a good distraction though for Sophia. And Daryl was right, under the circumstances, the pretty colors and silly characters were a good distraction for grownups too.

Or at least they would have been if Carol was able to look at the screen for more than ten seconds at time.

That was all she was managing though. Because then she'd look back to the bedroom door, and she'd wonder yet again, if she should get up and go check on Daryl.

She just couldn't stop worrying.

And that went on . . . her back and forth, TV to door watching, that is . . . for a solid twenty minutes or so. It was almost coming up on the point where Daryl would probably have to go downstairs to meet the delivery boy, when Carol finally heard the doorknob begin to turn.

Then the door pulled back, and Daryl was there . . . she bit her lip . . . he was holding one of their new cell phones in his hand.

Her gaze shifted up from the phone, to his face, and she saw that he was watching her.

He tipped his head to the left.

"Can you come in here for a second, please Carol?" He asked quietly.

The clear hesitance in such a simple question, gave Carol another jolt of worry. So she immediately murmured an, "of course," as she nodded and stood up.

"Be right back, baby," she called out to her daughter, when she started across the room. But Sophia was engrossed in her movie, which meant that all Carol got in response was a distracted, "'k, mama."

She wasn't paying them any attention.

Which was just as well. Because Carol could see from the tension on Daryl's face as she walked by him into the bedroom, that whatever specifically had him so worked up, it wasn't a conversation that he'd want Sophia to be privy too.

And that assumption was confirmed, when he immediately turned to push the door closed behind them.

Feeling her chest tighten, Carol tried to settle her breathing by looking over to the opposite wall . . . but then she winced. Because the other wall was where the windows were. And even with the curtains closed, she could still see those earlier images flashing beyond them. And she wondered, briefly, if it was going to be possible for her to even sleep in that room tonight.

Or would she just keep staring at the window, watching that violent echo play out over and over again on those heavy polyester drapes.

The thought alone was enough to make her stomach hurt in the same way that it had when she was actually watching the attack live. But knowing that this topic . . . where the hell she was going to sleep that night . . . wasn't something she should be dwelling on right then, she closed her eyes and looked to the floor.

She counted to three.

And when she looked up again, she made sure her gaze was settled on the edge of the blue patterned comforter. And fortunately, staring at that zig zag pattern, those other images quickly faded away once more.

Good.

But then, feeling Daryl's fingers brushing against her bare shoulder, Carol realized that she'd gotten herself distracted for too long. So she turned back, murmuring a, "sorry, I started picturing it again," as she looked up at him.

Three beats passed where Daryl just stared at her, those worry lines on his face even more pronounced than before. But then finally he blinked, and held the phone out in front of him.

"I know you were hopin' we wouldn't talk about this again," he started softly, "but I wanted you to know, I called and got both our phones activated. I put your cell number in mine, and my numbers, home and the new cell, in yours. I also put in a shortcut for 911, and four different cab companies that seem to cover the whole city." His expression softened then as he pushed the little black device towards her, "so _please_ , Carol," his voice started to thicken, "when I'm gone, please keep this with you all the time, okay? Because I want you guys to be safe, and this is all I can do."

Feeling a fresh ache in her chest, and fresh tears in her eyes, both which had nothing at all to do with the violence of the day, Carol reached out to take the phone from Daryl's hand.

"Okay," she sniffled and blinked as she brought the phone back to her chest, "I promise. I'll keep it on, and I'll keep it with me."

The expression of on Daryl's face when she said that, a strange mixture of both pain and relief, was enough to make Carol have to drop her eyes. Though she pretended like it was only to inspect the phone, really it was just too hard to look at him. Because to have someone who so obviously cared that much about her and her daughter, and to know that they had to separate tomorrow . . . it hurt.

It just straight up hurt.

She'd never believed in the silly concept of ' _love at first sight_ ,' but she was starting to think, really and truly seriously, that there was definitely something to the idea of, ' _like at first sight_.'

Because she'd never _liked_ anyone . . . her lower lip quivered . . . as much as she liked Daryl Dixon.

And it would be easier (almost) if she thought her growing affection for him was just one sided. That it was only a sad crush that would never be returned. But she knew that wasn't true. And when she realized that he'd actually programmed his new cell number into her phone, as the second emergency number . . . after 911 . . . she knew that his feelings of ' _like'_ had to be at least as strong as hers were.

And when her watery eyes darted back up to his, and she saw that he was also looking down at his number on the emergency contact list, he shrugged.

"I told you earlier that you could call me if you need help." His mouth twisted into a faint smile, "I just wanted you to know I was serious. If something happens," his jaw clenched as he gestured towards the closed curtains, "something like _that_ , first you run like hell, and keep runnin' 'til you're somewhere safe, and then you can call me. You can call me if you just need to talk, or you can call and I'll come get you out of the city. Either one, okay?"

Carol sniffed and nodded.

"Okay. And um," she wiped the corner of her eye, "I was thinking about something earlier. Something I wasn't going to mention until maybe tomorrow when we said goodbye," she cleared her throat, "but uh," she bit her lip, "seeing as you did this, and just said what you said, well," her voice started to thicken, "I figure I won't look as stupid now saying what I wanted to say."

And then she stopped. Not because she'd changed her mind . . . but because she was scared. Not scared in the way she was of what was going on out in the world (though that was still there too) but just plain old, simple ' _afraid of being rejected as a person_ ,' scared. It was one of those things you always figured you'd grow out of as you grew up. But you don't.

Not really.

It was especially hard for her, because she was coming off of such a bad time with Ed. Not that she had any feelings left for him, at least not any positive ones, but her time with him had done a lot of damage. And she knew that she was real mess, emotionally, because of that.

Because of him.

So bottom line, she knew that she wasn't a great prize or anything. But for some reason, Daryl didn't seem to mind that she burst into tears at the drop of a hat, or was basically just really out of practice in having any kind of adult conversations. And if he was telling her, flat out now, that he was okay with keeping in touch for real, that she could reach out to him even if was just because she was scared, then she wanted to tell him about her little pipe dream. The one that she wanted to make into part of her, Big Picture Plans. The problem was though . . . she couldn't seem to get the words out of her mouth. It was such a big step.

To try again.

And so she was staring down at her bare toes digging into the carpet, when suddenly she felt Daryl's fingers touch her cheek.

So she looked up.

And he gave her a little smile.

"I promise I won't think it's stupid," he whispered, "so what'd you wanna say?"

And hearing that promise from him, it was easier to let a little of that rejection fear, go. Because she was pretty sure that no matter what she said now, he'd make sure she didn't feel foolish when she was done saying it.

So she took a breath.

"I, well," she bit her lip as her eyes locked onto his, "I had just been wondering if maybe down the road, after I get my life sorted a bit and save up a little money, if maybe um," she swallowed, "well, if I ended up moving to somewhere north of Atlanta, if you would um, well, if you might want to uh . . ."

And then she had to look down, because her courage was fading again.

"Yes."

Hearing that one little word, Carol's head snapped back up so fast, she almost got whiplash.

"What?"

"Yes," Daryl said on a whisper as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, "if you find yourself living somewhere less than a hundred miles away, definitely give me a ring."

She blinked.

"Okay," she took a slow breath, before a small, though slightly watery, smile finally crossed her lips, "I definitely will." Then she sobered again.

"But you know, it might not be for a long while though. Could be even as long as a year, depending on how things go."

"Year's not that long," he answered with a shrug, "not for something that's worth it. And I think," his jaw clenched as he looked down . . . and then over her shoulder, "I think it would make me real happy to spend more time with you, Carol."

His eyes snapped back to hers.

"So don't worry about how long it takes before you can make that call. Just stay focused on what you need to do for you and Sophia to get yourselves on the right track. Because I can pretty much guarantee," his lips twisted in a bit of a wry smile, "I am gonna be just as unattached in my forty-second year, as I am here in my forty-first."

Though Carol was pleased (read, deliriously happy) that Daryl was so sure that they'd be able to pick again at some point, for some reason, all she could really focus on out of what he'd said, was his age. And she couldn't help but repeat it back to him.

"You're _forty-one_ ," her nose scrunched, "really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "forty-one in January. Why," his brow quirked up in amusement, "how old did you think I was?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "thirty-five, maybe thirty-six."

"Pfft," Daryl snorted and stepped back, "thirty- _five_? That's funny. Though," his brow darkened a little as he thought back, "actually, maybe it's not so funny. Because you probably wouldn't of liked me much back then." His lips pressed together, "I was in jail on my birthday that year. And then again, different charges, in the early fall."

That wasn't a fact he'd planned on sharing before she left . . . his prison time that is . . . but considerin' the conversation they'd just had, he'd just realized she probably deserved to know about the jail thing now. Because that could be a deal breaker for a lot of women.

Especially ones with little girls they gotta watch out for.

And though he could see that Carol's eyes had widened with a bit in surprise at what he'd said, she hadn't pulled away like she was afraid of him.

That was probably a good sign.

Then finally she asked the question he was waiting for.

"What were you in for?"

At that, he gave her a wry smile.

"Bar fights. I got thirty days on one, and twelve weeks on another. Battery and disorderly conduct, both times. I got the twelve weeks actually for trying to break up a fight Merle started, but," he made a face, "I ended up breaking a guy's rib, and that guy turned out to be an off duty cop who sort of held a grudge on that point."

Seeing Carol's eyes crinkle a bit at that, Daryl figured he hadn't lost whatever good opinion he had built up with her. So he decided to add the rest in, before she changed her mind about him.

Because God knew he didn't want that.

"I've never been in for more than a couple weeks or a few months at a time," he quickly went to explain, "and that adds up to less than two years from eighteen to now. And I ain't been inside for anything except to visit Merle, since I was thirty-eight. And that was a just a weekend thing in the local cell. Those back to backs in my thirties, kind of got me to clean up my act. Plus they uh," he tipped his head, "they had one of those 'anger management' classes when I was in there for the longer stretch. That helped a little. I've been better about counting to ten since then. But even before that, I never hurt anybody with a weapon, and I never hurt anybody who wasn't trying to break my face too. And I think it goes without saying by now," he shook his head, "I've never raised my hand to a woman or a child," his voice thickened, "and I never would."

That was the most important thing for her to know. That he'd never been like his daddy or her husband.

And he never would be.

Hearing the pain in Daryl's voice, Carol's expression softened. Then she reached up to touch his cheek.

"That part does go without saying," she whispered with a brush of her thumb along his jaw, "and as for the rest of it," she shrugged, "it doesn't bother me. Really. I know you're a good man, because you've shown yourself to be one, and that's all that matters."

Her hand fell down then as she let out a small huff.

"Never figured you were a Boy Scout anyway."

It would figure though that a person like Daryl, who had spent his whole weekend protecting and looking after her and her daughter, had spent the last two decades going in and out of the system, for getting into fights with other grown men. And then a person like Ed, who had been beating the crap out of his wife (and later his daughter) for almost that same full stretch of time, he didn't have so much as a parking ticket to his name.

There was so much not right about the world.

"No," Daryl snorted at the idea of bein' a Boy Scout . . . he'd once beaten one up when he was nine, "never was one of those. But if you'd like," he continued on a more sober note, "I can tell you more details about the other stuff. But it's gonna have to be after dinner, because I have to run downstairs in a minute to meet that guy."

That time there was no hesitation in Carol's response. She just gave him a little smile, before she said on a shrug, "you can tell me next year."

And he realized then that they really had settled on a definite plan. They were gonna put this, whatever it was goin' on with them, on a pause, and try again later.

And that sounded pretty damn great to him.

Because not once in his life, had he ever had something good like that to look forward to. And really, having this gap, even though it sucked . . . and he dreaded SO MUCH, the idea of leavin' them in the city . . . as long as Carol was getting her life pulled together, maybe he could make the best of it too. If only to try and get himself some steadier work, rather than going from place to place as he (or Merle), saw fit. Because a lady with a little girl, she needed to have a stable guy around.

Not a bum.

Though the way she was lookin' up at him now, already made him feel more like that stable guy than the bum. It helped, having somebody look at you like they believed in you. And Carol said she believed he was a good man. That was a point that he might disagree with some, because he had done many things in his life that he was not proud of . . . including this trip into Atlanta to pick up his brother's ingredients to make meth. But if Carol, who was the sweetest person he'd met in a long time, thought he could be good, then maybe he could try a little harder to not break that illusion for her.

Hell, just make it not _be_ an illusion at all.

For now though . . . he took a step to the right to shoot a quick glance over to the time on the cable clock . . . he did need to get downstairs. So he reached out to rub Carol's shoulder just before he leaned around her, to pick up the other cell phone off the bed.

He shoved it into his jeans pocket.

"Gotta run downstairs now," he murmured, "I got my knife, and I got the phone. And again," he gave her fingers a tight squeeze, "I promise I won't venture beyond the door."

"Okay," she gave a quick nod, "just be careful, and you know, well," she gave him a sad smile, "you know."

His eyes crinkled.

"I do," he whispered. Then he patted her cheek, and turned to open the bedroom door.

"I'm gonna leave the key card here," he continued, now talking quietly over his shoulder, hoping Sophia wouldn't hear him. "If I see there's any problems outside, or anywhere on my way out, I'll call you right away. If that happens, you barricade the door with the desk and the coffee table, and then you take Sophia and get in the bathroom with the cell phone, one of the chairs, and anything else you can carry quick, and you block that door too." He stopped and turned around, giving her a hard look. "You got it? That's your emergency plan if I call and tell you anything don't look right."

Carol sucked in a tight, anxious, breath.

"Yeah," she slowly exhaled, "I got it." Then she reached out to pat his chest . . . but he was already turning to reach for the deadbolt.

Her fingertips just brushed over his buttons.

"Hurry back," she murmured.

"That's the plan sweetheart," he answered with a tone, and a look, that made her knees feel a little weak.

Then he snapped back the lock on the door, and put his hand on the knob. He'd just started to twist it, when he paused.

"If he's not there within ten minutes of me getting downstairs," he added with a tight clench of his jaw, "I'll call you just so you know everything's okay. So if I don't call in ten minutes, consider the emergency plan in effect."

And with that, he yanked the door open, and poked his head out into the hall. And apparently seeing that everything looked normal, he stepped out with just two final words.

"Lock it."

Then he pulled the door shut behind him.

Carol immediately moved to do as he said. But once the chain was set, and the deadbolt was snapped, her eyes immediately darted over to check the time.

 _Three minutes past six._

All right, so she'd give him until six-fifteen. That'd be their ten minute window.

Hopefully they wouldn't need it.

For now though, she just took a hurried look around the suite, to see what else she could use for a barricade if she had to. A quick once over told her that the standing lamps in the sitting area, and the bedroom, would probably be good to help jam up the doors.

In a pinch, she could lay them out horizontally.

So with that one point kind of addressed . . . though dear JESUS was she praying that plan wouldn't need to be put into action(!) . . . she went back into the bedroom, to collect her sneakers and Sophia's, from where they were laying in a small pile next to the closet.

She walked out and dropped them inside the bathroom, behind the door.

Just in case.

Then, with her new cell clutched in her hand, she continued back into the sitting room. And after leaning down to give her surprised daughter a kiss on the forehead, (just because she needed to), Carol walked around the coffee table she didn't want to have to use as a barricade, to perch down on the edge of the couch. Her eyes snapped over to lock onto the cable clock.

 _Six minutes past six._

Nine minutes to go.

So she sat back, gripping that phone she would have thrown clear across the room, if any other man had asked her to hold it . . . and she waited.

* * *

 _A/N 2: This seriously took three days to proof. Yes, I was doing other stuff, but still, I think it's the longest single chapter I've ever written. But it's SUCH a short period of time within the storyline (that I still have so many plans for), that I didn't want to post three shorter chapters to cover it, even though I so easily could have. I figured you guys would forgive me the delay in updating though, if I gave you a full "novella" when I was done with it :)_

 _But here, you can clearly see these shared experiences are bringing them much closer, even without any real physicality in their interactions yet. I am keeping it a slow burn, because she is just out of the house (with Sophia), and he's still Daryl :) It is a version of him who might actually (horrors) be sort of romantic :) But he's still the guy who would need to feel like he could really trust a woman, before he'd let her that close to him. Fortunately though, trust in this situation is accelerated._

 _And here the primary angle that I thought needed to be explored, which was skipped on Fear, (and already 'old news' when TWD opened), was the emotional impact of suddenly being exposed to this type of carnage. It isn't like anything you could be mentally prepared to face unless MAYBE if you literally grew up in a war zone. And even then, people tearing each other to shreds with their teeth, and eating them, is still on another level. So for Carol and Daryl, even experiencing violence in their own lives, seeing that attack in broad daylight would still cause an impact. And remember, these two don't know about the 'dead people rising' angle, they just think (as one would) that people are going crazy off drugs or some kind of sickness. So I did want them to be at the right place to see how these attacks really play out, but still just far enough back from the scene that they couldn't see the walkers faces clearly enough (and again, they are fresh corpse faces, obscured by gore) to know they were dead people. That fun fact comes later!_

 _Otherwise, once more just a huge thank you for all the support everybody! It's not so hard getting the monster chapters pulled together, when you know people do appreciate them. And I appreciate that :)_

 _Next one probably won't be until the weekend. Though I'm going to try and set a word count limit for myself next time, so the proofing doesn't take longer than it takes to write out the full chapter to start!_


	10. Plans, Unmade

**Author's Note** : This chapter took much longer than expected, because it became another ridiculous, time sucking, monster. And the only reason that I _allowed,_ it to become another monster, was because I refused to post another chapter that didn't get this damn story where I wanted it to be! :) And I finally got there! You folks will all see at the end, what I've been trying to get us to for the last two postings. So from here on out, "normal sized" chapters, will be the focus. I can't keep doing 18k words a week. It's sort of an insane pace, especially seeing as I'm not getting paid :) If I _was_ getting paid by the word though, I'd be THRILLED to post a 'novella' a week for you folks! Ha, ha!

And thanks everyone for all the notes on the last one! I don't if I got back to anyone yet, but once again, they are always appreciated :)

So picking up again with Carol. You might want to get some popcorn, and refill that diet soda. It's a LONG one!

* * *

 _Two roads diverged in a yellow wood . . ._

 _\- Robert Frost_

 **Plans, Unmade**

Carol's teeth began to grind together.

There were two minutes left on the clock, and she still hadn't heard from Daryl. Yes, she knew that he'd said _ten_ minutes, not _eight_ minutes, so really there was no reason to be getting this panicky two minutes before she was even expecting him to call.

But she was.

Though given what she was picturing could have _happened_ to him since he'd been gone, she felt that a little panic was forgivable! As long as she didn't completely freak out, that is.

Which was the exact moment . . . the 'just don't freak out' moment . . . that the cell phone began to ring.

And she was so startled (wired) that of course she dropped the phone. And as she watched it falling out of her hands and bouncing to the carpet, she felt that panic (for totally different reasons now) send her heart rate galloping.

She was squeaking out an, "OH CRAP!" even as she fumbled down to snatch the little vibrating device back up again.

And hearing Sophia's vaguely concerned, "you okay mama?" coming from the direction of the television, Carol muttered back a "yep, fine baby," just as she smacked her finger down on the green button.

She got it on the fourth ring.

Before the phone was even fully up to her ear though, she was rasping out, "hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Daryl calm voice came back immediately, "everything's fine down here. Sorry if me calling scared ya, I just wanted you to know he's not here yet, so I'll be a few more minutes at least. But maybe I left a little early, so I'm not gonna assume there's a problem. So let's give it another ten, twelve minutes, if he's still not here, I'll call you back from inside the lobby and have you check with the place to make sure nothing happened, okay?"

Carol nodded while simultaneously answering back with an anxious, "got it."

And though she would have liked to just keep Daryl on the phone and keep him talking . . . because she'd feel better then knowing that he was totally fine . . . she knew that wasn't the safest thing for him. Because he was outside, and needed to pay attention to his surroundings.

Which was hard to do that when half of your focus was on the phone stuck to your ear.

So when he said, "see you in a bit," . . . she let him go.

And they both hung up again.

For a moment Carol stared down at the phone in her hand, wondering how it was she'd become so attached to this man so quickly. But attached she was, and there wasn't any point in dwelling on that. Because she already knew that it would be awhile before things between them could go any further than they were right now. And how things were right now was good enough.

As long as he came back upstairs.

That was literally ALL she wanted from the universe in that moment . . . Daryl's safe return to the room. So once more Carol put her head down, and clutched the phone in her hand, and teetered on the edge of that couch. All while trying to tell herself that she wasn't actually holding a "vigil" for a grown man to safely return from meeting a delivery boy, at the front door of a busy hotel.

But she was.

She totally was. It was ridiculous. Or maybe it would have seemed ridiculous yesterday.

But not today.

Today was different. Watching a little boy snack on a grown woman . . . a woman who might have even been his mother . . . had made it different. And Carol was wondering how long it would be until the world would seem normal again.

Well, people would probably have to stop _eating_ each other first . . . she thought with a cut of bitterness . . . yeah maybe _then_ the world might start to seem normal again.

But that was just one more thing that she had no control over.

And she knew to feel bitterness about something like that, the actual state of, "the world," was beyond pointless. Whether it was an illness or a drug, or just something in the damn water around here, eventually the authorities would figure it out. And in the meantime, she just needed to not think about it so much. At least not until Daryl returned. Though it was admittedly difficult to NOT think about the exact reason she was worrying about Daryl, when Daryl was not there to distract her from worrying about him NOT being there!

Yes, that was a vicious little cycle that she needed to get off of before she gave herself a headache.

So in an effort to go with simply 'clearing her mind' of all of those unhelpful thoughts, she decided to try a mental exercise. Counting to ten in as many languages as she could.

That was two.

Well, three if she included English. But obviously being a native English speaker, counting _in_ English wasn't a complex enough mental task to distract her from anything. So she was just focusing on the Spanish and the French. Because what she remembered from high school (where she'd had two years of each) was pretty iffy. Which was actually fortunate under the circumstances.

It made her have to think a little harder.

And she'd made it through two successful runs in Spanish, and was on her second fail in French . . . she kept getting stuck on how to pronounce "neuf" . . . when she heard a knock on the door.

Her thoughts stuttered to a stop as her head snapped up to hear the muffled, though still distinctive, drawl of, "it's me."

The "me" hadn't even completely left Daryl's mouth, before Carol had jumped off the couch . . . startling Sophia in the process . . . and run over to snap back the deadbolt and rip off the chain.

She yanked the door open.

And there was the man himself, with a faintly amused expression on his face, and an oversized brown paper bag tucked under his arm.

He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

"See," he murmured while backing her into the room, "told ya I wouldn't die gettin' French fries."

And she was honest to God so happy to see him there and totally fine . . . even though he was apparently never actually in any danger at all . . . that she almost threw her arms around his neck. But she restrained herself.

Barely.

It was for her own well being though, that she did. Because those kinds of hugs, the man/woman, 'grownup' kind, were something else that she'd been getting by without for a lot of years now. And she was thinking that was just _one_ thing that if she got it back . . . that feeling of warmth and security she was sure would be found in those muscular arms . . . it would just make things so much more difficult for her tomorrow.

And they were going to be bad enough as it was.

So instead of hugging him, she sufficed with just slowly running her hand down his arm, while she watched him reset the locks on the door.

"No problems at all?" she asked quietly.

"Naw, not a thing," he answered with a shake of his head, "least," he turned to give her a look, "not like you mean. I would like to talk to you though," he continued on while shooting a look over to Sophia, who was interested enough in Daryl's return to have gotten to her feet, but not actually hungry enough to have yet left the TV, "because I met a man downstairs while I was waitin,'" his eyes darted back to hers, "and he told me some stuff I wanna tell you about."

"All right," Carol nodded slowly, "let me just get Sophia set up with her dinner, and then we can go talk."

About what, she couldn't even imagine. Because honestly, after this day, if he was going to tell her that someone had spotted little green men running around the baseball stadium, she wouldn't have been a bit surprised. If it _was_ little green men though . . . she grunted to herself . . . maybe they could catch a ride with them off this God forsaken planet!

Realizing then she was starting to sound a little bitter again . . . even if it was just in her own head, she needed to stop . . . she pushed those thoughts away. Because bitterness was just another type of sickness. Like a cancer that ate you out from the inside. And she'd been fighting with herself all these years, to make sure that life with Ed didn't turn her into a hateful, bitter old shrew. She'd won that battle.

And she wasn't going to let the world beat her down now.

So after she'd taken the bag of food out of Daryl's arms, she walked over and put it down on the coffee table. And she was about to reach in and start emptying their dinner items out, when she stopped. Because it wasn't a sandwich or her salad that she was seeing there in front of her . . . it was book.

Her book.

The one she'd told Daryl that she wanted to read . . . _The Year of the Flood_.

"You got it for me," she whispered while slowly reaching in to pluck it off of the white Styrofoam container that it was sitting on top of. And Daryl grunted back a confused, "huh?" before she heard his boots began to move across the carpet.

He stopped next to the table.

"Oh yeah," he let out a slow breath, "the book. Well, I'd just gotten the food and I was right there walking by the store and I saw it clear as day from the lobby. So," he shrugged, "figurin' I had a couple minutes before you were expecting me, I'd just get it for ya now."

Then, noticing that Carol wasn't even lookin' at him . . . she was still just starin' down at the book in her hands . . . he added with a touch of worry.

"That's the right one, isn't it? Margaret Atwood, the flood one. That's what you'd said."

"Yeah," Carol quickly blinked away the growing moisture in her eyes, before she lifted her head, "it's the right one. It's just," she bit her lip, "you bought me a present. I um," she swallowed, "I just haven't had a present in a long time."

What she'd just said, might have seemed a little dumb given how he'd been paying for everything all weekend. But it wasn't the same thing at all when Daryl 'covered' the bills for basic supplies like food and shelter, or even clothes, versus him going out on his own to buy something _for_ her. Something that he knew would make her happy. Especially something so unnecessary.

Like a book.

The last person to buy her a book had been her father. That was when she was eighteen and in her freshman year in college. One weekend that fall, she'd called home to check in, and in the middle of the conversation about her grades, she'd told him how excited she was to be studying the classics, and how she was discovering how much she loved all of those old authors. It was sort of a throwaway comment, with certainly no hint behind it. So she'd been very surprised when she'd come home for winter break . . . a week before Christmas had even arrived . . . and her daddy had sat her down in the kitchen. That's when he'd gone up into the top shelf of the canned good cabinet, to pull down a heavy, gilt edged, green leather bound book.

 _The Complete Works of Jane Austen._

It was absolutely beautiful, and probably the fanciest thing that she would ever own. She'd even managed to keep it intact all these years with Ed. In fact, when she was packing up Friday morning, it was the only thing she'd cried about having to leave behind.

The book was just too heavy to lug.

Realizing then that she'd gotten herself a little distracted in her memories, Carol blinked and looked up, focusing in on Daryl again. Which was when saw the look on his face. It was a look she was becoming familiar with.

Discomfort.

It was the gratitude. Her being touched by what he'd done. And God did she wish she knew what it was in his past, that made him so uncomfortable with such a simple, _human_ , emotional exchange. Whatever it was though, she knew it wasn't anything that was going to get 'fixed' in the short time they had left. Because after their eyes had locked for a moment, she saw his hand come up to scrub along his chin. A second later he muttered, "as long as it's the right book," before his arm came down. Then he reached out to move her back a little, so he could lean in and start unloading the paper bag himself.

That wasn't what Carol wanted though, for him to brush this one off like it meant nothing. Because it did mean something. It meant something that he _thought_ about her. About doing something to please her.

And she didn't want to just brush that way.

So she reached over to touch his chest. And when he froze, with his eyes on her face, and what was clearly Sophia's foil wrapped grilled cheese sandwich clutched in his hand, she gave him a little smile.

"I won't say thank you," she whispered, keeping her voice down so Sophia wouldn't hear, "because I know you don't like that. But please know," she tapped the back of her finger against the book's binding, "it makes me makes me very happy that you thought to buy this for me."

After a moment of Daryl's jaw twitching, while he continued to stare into her eyes, Carol saw his expression soften.

"I'm glad it made you happy."

The words came out on a soft breath, just a little louder than a whisper. Then she saw the corner of his lip quirk up.

"Now come on," he gestured back to the still half full bag, "let's get this food out before the warm stuff makes your salad all gross."

She snorted.

"Right," she leaned over to put the book down on the table, "good point."

So together now, they went back to emptying and sorting out their delivery order. Fortunately everything was there, and it had been packed well. Meaning the sandwiches didn't seem soggy and they had actually put some cardboard in there to protect Carol's cold salad, from the hot food.

Somebody at that sandwich shop, actually took pride in their work.

But actually _tasting_ that work, was going to have to wait. Because Carol had promised Daryl they'd talk after she got Sophia setup with her dinner. And besides that, as she was unwrapping her daughter's little box of French fries, which Carol knew on a base level smelled 'good,' her appetite still wasn't kicking in yet. Which meant that she might as well wait and try to eat a little later.

At least then she might actually enjoy it.

And she was about to go into the bedroom to get Sophia a drink out of the duffel bag, when she realized that Daryl had already done that.

He was just walking back into the room.

There were two waters and an apple juice tucked against his chest.

Her eyes crinkled.

"Thanks."

Then her focus darted over to her daughter still standing there engrossed in her movie. If memory served Carol though, that movie was almost done.

The toys were at the airport.

"Sophia," she called over, "time for dinner. You can keep watching your movie, just come sit here and eat while everything's hot."

"Okay, mama," Sophia murmured while slowly inching her way backwards across the room, clearly so she wouldn't miss anything on the screen.

Of course she didn't make it all the way to the table.

She ended up backing into Daryl instead.

And when her head snapped back to look up at him standing there behind her, her cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Sorry Daryl," she murmured sheepishly. And he just shook his head.

"Gonna get you and your mama both some glasses," he grumbled, "'cuz both of you keep walking into me."

Though his tone made it sound like he might have been a little annoyed, Carol could see how the corner of his mouth was twitching when he looked down at Sophia. And she knew . . . he wasn't really bothered at all.

He was just joking.

Though seeing the worried look on her daughter's face, Carol wasn't sure if she knew that too. Because she did come from a home where an 'accidental bump,' would usually lead to a very intentional, 'thwack.' Not that Daryl had ever shown anything but kindness to her daughter, but ten years of one kind of life, was difficult to shake off in just a couple days. But then maybe Daryl seemed to remember that point too, because his expression softened as he reached down to touch Sophia's cheek.

"It's okay darlin'," he murmured with a gentle pat, "no harm. It was just a joke."

Then he winked, and Sophia gave him a bright, relieved, smile, and Carol let out that new breath she'd been holding. It felt like that's all she was doing lately. Holding her breath over one thing or another.

Because it was always something.

Something big, like worrying about Daryl coming back safely to the room, or something little, like worrying about Sophia being scared that the same man was angry with her over a clumsy step. Of course that wasn't really a little thing at all though.

Because it came up from the abuse her child had suffered under her bastard father.

Though as Carol watched Daryl now stooped down and helping Sophia get the straw into her juice box, she was thinking about their plans for the future. If Daryl came back into their lives and was around to show her girl how a father (even of the part-time proxy sort) should be, patient and kind . . . and gentle. Like just now, Sophia was about to take a bite of her grilled cheese, and Daryl had reached over to quickly brush a strand of hair back from her mouth so she wouldn't eat that too. That was the kind of simple little thing that a good daddy would do. A little girl who could spend the rest of her growing up years with a daddy like that (again, even if he was of the part-time proxy sort), then she might just turn out all right.

Not screwed up like her mother.

Feeling a new tightness in her chest at the sad reality of what kind of role model she really was, Carol had to look away from a moment. Before she'd even looked back though, she felt Daryl's hand on her shoulder.

"She's all set now," he murmured while walking them away from the table, "so let's talk quick while she's occupied."

"Mmm," Carol murmured back, not trusting her voice quite yet. But fortunately Daryl took care of all the talking that needed to be said with a simple, over his shoulder, "your mama and I'll be back in a couple minutes, little miss."

And Sophia mumbled a, "'k, Daryl," around whatever bite of sandwich or French fry she presently had in her mouth.

Then Daryl was walking them out into the hall, and three steps later, through the doorway into the bedroom.

He immediately closed the door behind them.

Noting that the shadows in there were a lot longer now than they'd been even after her shower. . . the sun had started to set . . . Carol took a breath to clear her head (and her voice) as she walked over to turn on one of the lamps by the bed.

When she turned back, she could see Daryl looked much more agitated than when he'd been in the sitting room. In fact he'd just started to pace back and forth on the two foot wide swath of carpeting between the end of the bed, and the front of the television.

And now feeling a fresh jolt to her anxiety about the 'big picture' stuff creeping in again, Carol's arms came up to wrap around her body.

"What is it that you needed to tell me?" She asked anxiously while walking back across the room.

The question was pretty straightforward, but rather than answering her directly, Daryl just stopped short, shot her a quick look, and then reached out to grab the remote off the top of the television set.

"One second," he murmured while fumbling to find the button to turn on the TV, "just realized I might be able to show you part of it."

That was the moment when the screen started to lighten up . . . and then the picture appeared. Daryl immediately punched in the code for a local news station.

A quick glance at the time showed Carol that the station should've been in the middle of the six o'clock news hour, but at the moment all she could see was a fast food commercial.

Somebody was going to Burger King.

And the sight of all those pretty actors eagerly biting into their thick, juicy hamburgers, was enough to make Carol's stomach start to turn again. Apparently she wasn't the only one though, because that's when Daryl flipped to another channel.

It was another commercial . . . must have just been that window in the news block . . . but this time there was nobody eating anything. Just people standing around a bank. And as those people began to discuss their new, no fee, checking account, Daryl began to talk.

"News should be back in a minute," he said quietly while inching down the sound to a just audible level, "and hopefully we'll be able to see what I heard about. But anyway," he turned to her with the remote still gripped in his hand, "backtracking to while I was gone. I'd just gotten outside to wait for the delivery guy, but you know he was late, so I'm standing there in front of those doors like an asshole and while I'm checking out the parking lot, I notice this big black guy walking towards me. He's like," Daryl held his hand up well over his head, "six, six at least, glasses on his face, but built like Schwarzenegger. He's got on a security uniform but no gun. And he comes up and says he's hotel security and asks me what I'm doing. And I explain how I'm waitin' for the guy, and then we start talkin' and I made a comment about there not being any security people around when we checked in, and he explained how they only have an overnight shift. Three guys, one girl, regular six to six, but they got called in early 'cuz of what happened next door. And I'm thinkin' all right," Daryl smacked the back of the remote for emphasis, "now maybe I'll get some information about what really _did_ happen, because hell if anybody should have some direct skinny, it's gonna be the security people for the neighborhood, you know?"

Carol gave a nod as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Right," she quickly agreed, "that makes sense. So did he know anything?"

"NO!" Daryl threw his arms up, "that's the bitch of it! He didn't even KNOW about the attack!"

Feeling her eyes pop as her jaw dropped, Carol sputtered back, "wha, what?! How is that possible?!"

"I don't freaking know," Daryl's nostrils were flaring now as he shook his head, "but that's what he said, all he was told when they'd call him was that there had been a 'police incident' in the neighborhood, and that hotel management wanted the security team to come in a little early because of it. And I'm like, are you fuckin' kidding me? So I start telling him what the," Daryl flashed a half assed set of air quotes, "' _police incident_ ' was, and his eyes are like boom, saucers. And he's not saying nothing. And I'm thinking he's not saying nothing because he's shocked 'cuz you know, it's some horrible shit. So I say as much, but then he says no, that's not it. And he starts telling _me_ ," Daryl jabbed his index finger into his chest, "that he saw that EXACT thing on the news today, but at _another_ funeral home, in a _different_ neighborhood!"

"Wait," Carol blinked, "what?"

And Daryl threw his hands up again.

"That's what I said! Oh shit," he quickly shifted his focus as his eyes darted back to the TV screen, "hold on," he started pushing the volume up, "I think they're back."

They were back, but the anchor woman immediately cut to the weather, so Daryl turned the volume down again.

"So anyway," he looked back to Carol, "this other funeral home attack he told me about, it was even worse than ours was. Carol," both his voice and body language sobered considerably as looked down at her, "they had _twenty-two_ dead there. Twenty-two dead like ours."

And her hand shot up to her mouth.

"Oh my God!"

"Yeah," Daryl swallowed, "and I just barely got through seeing six. But I guess this was a huge memorial service. Some high school football players got killed drunk driving a couple days ago, and they were doing a combined wake for 'em at one of the big funeral homes in the city. And then," his jaw clenched, "just like at ours, something happened and shit hit the fan. Twenty-two dead on scene, and like twice that over were hurt. And," his lips pursed, "a lot of them were hurt real bad like what we saw here."

For a moment they were both silent, just listening to the faint chatter of the meteorologist discussing next week's forecast, and then Emily looked up.

"So is that what you're trying to see on the news," her gaze briefly flickered over to the screen, and then back up to Daryl's face, "this other attack?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "that, and ours. Because Christ between the two of 'em, they gotta be giving out some kind of reason by now for why this shit's happenin'. You just can't have thirty people torn to bits in an afternoon and not give a REASON!"

The anger was clearly seeping into his voice at the end, but Carol knew that anger was born out of frustration and well, fright. Because it was all the more terrifying knowing that these attacks were happening, but not knowing why. If somebody would just TELL them the why, then maybe they could prepare themselves. Take some kind of precautions. Avoid certain areas, or foods, or whatever.

Right now they were just getting by on sheer luck.

And she could see that Daryl seemed to be doing his counting to ten lesson that he'd learned in his anger management class . . . he had his eyes closed and he was staring at the floor . . . so she gave him those few seconds. But when he opened his eyes again, she gave him a small, worried, smile.

"You all right?" she whispered.

It took a second while he took in another slow breath, and then let it out, but finally he nodded.

"Yeah, sorry, just," his jaw clenched, "this whole thing's so God damn infuriatin.' I just wanna know what's goin' on, that's all."

"I know," she let out a faint sigh, "me too. So how did you leave it with the security guy?" Her brow wrinkled, "what was his name?"

"Christopher," Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, "his name's Christopher. And I told him flat out, I don't care how big you are man, you cannot be standing out here after dark trying to watch the door. It'd be like tryin' to catch a rabid lion. You'd have your throat ripped out before you could even make a move to run. So," Daryl's attention briefly flickered back to the screen . . . the weatherman seemed to be wrapping up, "he moved himself inside when I came in, and he said when the rest of his crew gets there, they were coming from different part of the city, that he'd sit 'em down and they'd figure out a best approach to keep watch. Because apparently they usually do a perimeter walk around the hotel grounds every couple hours, but between what I told him, and him seeing for himself all that police tape up next door, he definitely got the point that wanderin' out in the dark when his whole crew worked unarmed, was a bad idea. Oh," Daryl's eyes snapped back to the television, "here we go."

There was a generic shot of a funeral home sign on the screen, and as Daryl started pushing up the volume, he could hear the anchor lady saying, "to recap our top story . . ." so he figured that had to be it.

And so he curled the remote up in his hand, brought it to his chest . . . and he listened. Listened while that pretty lady told the greater Atlanta Metro area about the twenty-two people that had been killed, and the forty-seven injured, at Davison and Sons Funeral Home.

From there, after those basic facts, she was kinda (oddly) hazy on the details. Just that the place had been packed at the time with a crowd of over a hundred people, and that there had been multiple attackers who had struck quote, "randomly, viciously and without mercy in regards to age or disability."

Now, God knew Daryl did NOT want any details on the "disability" angle . . . because now he was just picturing old people in wheelchairs . . . but he still thought it was strange that they didn't focus in more on the blow by blow of how this thing went down. Then he was thinkin' maybe because it was the 'recap' of the top story, they were editing the thing down a little.

Either way, seeing as they were doing a rush job there, at that point Daryl was expectin' them to go on to mention the bloodbath that had happened next to their hotel. After all, it was late enough now for them to have picked that one up from the scanners at least.

But no.

His new buddy security guard buddy, Christopher, had been right, their attack with their single digit death count . . . at least that's what it was as far as Daryl knew . . . hadn't even made the broadcast. What those news people ended up doing instead, was to put up a map. And then the lady anchor went on to say how this incident during the memorial service, was part of a larger outbreak of extreme, random, violence that had been rolling through the city over the last few days. That in fact there had been fifty-two (the number made Daryl's jaw drop) such reported incidents, of varying degrees of severity, since midnight on Thursday. They had 'em all broken out on the city map by colors, based on the number of people injured or killed at each location. The lighter colors, the yellows and pale greens, they were the smaller incidents. Then the darker colors, the reds and the browns, they were the worst ones.

There was a whole big smattering of red splotches goin' all through the ghetto neighborhoods.

They didn't put it that way of course, the ghetto way, but that's how Daryl read it. And he read it real easy. What did surprise him some, was that the bad neighborhoods weren't the only ones with red dots. There were a couple of ritzy places on the other side of the city, where apparently some serious shit had gone down too. So whatever this was, it wasn't discriminatin' none.

At least not by economics.

The only really shocking thing about watching a news report dedicated to a wave of cannibalism sweeping through a modern American city, was that the "cannibalism" wasn't mentioned at all! Not once did they use the word. They talked about "unprovoked attacks," "unparalleled violence," and . . . this was the key repeated phrase . . . "gruesome violations."

Now, by Daryl's experience, 'violations' usually referred to something of the sexual nature. So if they were using that term to describe people getting their _faces_ eaten off, then some asshole down there at the news station had a seriously fucked up sense of humor. Or maybe, another thought came to him, they were just tryin' to be 'delicate' in not sceeving out their audience with talk about human cannibalism during the dinner hour.

All right . . . he gave half an eye roll . . . it was probably the second one.

Either way though, they were seriously screwing over the public by not explaining EXACTLY what the hell was happenin' out there! You hear "gruesome violations," you think there are some sick, psycho rapist/murderers pouncing on people and cuttin' them up. You also assume (by the odds) that they're probably mostly going after ladies, and then not to mention . . . he started gettin' a good head of steam going . . . you're NEVER gonna think that kind of shit is happenin' in broad daylight on busy STREET corners!

So yeah, basically they were zero for three in passing out quality information to keep people safe.

It was enough to make Daryl start swearing under his breath, but then he stopped. Because they were finally gettin' to what he'd been waiting for . . . the experts.

The people who were supposed to tell them exactly _what_ was happenin', and exactly _why_ it was happenin', in that city. And they did have two fancy professors from Emory University all lined up to talk. A man and a lady. The man had a psychology specialty, the lady they said, mainly worked in the field of Criminology. She was a former FBI agent, and the both of them had a whole hell of a lotta letters lined up after their names. And all of that together meant, that Daryl was feelin' pretty good about these two maybe havin' some decent insights, on this particular topic.

But then they opened their mouths.

And when they did, in their joint, pre-taped interviews, they both ended up saying the same thing.

It was the heat.

Yes, it was definitely heat. That there was a proven "correlation" (big word of the day) between the rise in summer temperatures, and the annual rise in criminal activities. Both the psychology of criminal behavior, and the statistical studies, backed it up. So all this was right now, was a small, unexpected, spike in the bell curve. There was no reason for people to be alarmed.

None at all.

The curve would correct itself, as it always did, as soon as the humidity broke. In the meantime, people just should stay alert, practice good common sense when out afterhours, and report any unusual activities to their local authorities.

Daryl just stood there for the whole ridiculous interview, with his mouth wide open. And when they cut back to the news studio again, he snapped the TV off. Then he slowly backed up, and dropped down next to Carol on the end of the bed.

The remote fell to the carpet.

"The heat," he muttered in disbelief while leaning back on the mattress, to stare up at the ceiling, "I can't believe they're saying it's the God damn heat."

It was the fucking stupidest, most ignorant thing, he'd ever heard in his life. But at that point he was too stunned at the idiocy of it, to even be pissed off about it.

He realized though, that Carol seemed to have the pissed off emotion covered for both of them, when he heard her spit out.

"I know! It's Georgia for God's sake! When _isn't_ it hot down here? Besides, the heat just makes people more likely to lose their tempers, it doesn't make them EAT each _other_!"

Her voice broke on the last word, and that's when Daryl realized that the anger was draining out of her.

Then she started to cry.

"Come here," he whispered while reaching up to tug on her arm. And so she did. She leaned back to lie down on the bed, and he reached over to take her hand.

He pulled it to his chest and wrapped it up in both of his.

For a moment they just lay there in silence, and then Carol sniffed and let out a slow breath.

"I bet they don't know have any idea what's causing it," she murmured sadly, "I bet that's why they're saying that it's the heat, because it's something to say. Something for people to repeat to each other. Oh yeah, it's the heat you know." Her voice started to fade, "it's making people go crazy."

"Maybe," Daryl sighed, "I don't know. I just hope whatever it is stops happenin', as fast and out of the blue as it started."

Carol had nothing to say back to that. Because all she could think about was how Daryl was leaving, and she and Sophia were still going to be stuck in the city. And those little dots, in all their different colors, were already spread out all over it.

How many more would of them would there be, by the end of the weekend?

It was possible that Daryl was thinking the exact same thing that she was in that moment. Because suddenly she heard him let out a sharp breath, right before he squeezed her hand.

"You can call me every day if you want," his voice was tight and stressed, "and when you run outta minutes, I'll send you new cards."

Feeling a fresh tear slide down her cheek, Carol turned her head.

"Are you sure about that?" She sniffled, "because if things keep going the way they are, I might just take you up on the offer."

Hell, who was she kidding? If he was onboard with that plan, then she was ABSOLUTELY going to be calling him every day!

So really, she was just thanking God when she saw how firmly he nodded, right before his eyes shot over to her.

"I am one hundred percent sure about that," his jaw clenched, "because otherwise I'm just gonna go nuts worryin' about you two, and that Goddamn rainbow colored map. Now come on," he huffed out a tired breath as he started to pull her up.

"Let's go eat."

/*/*/*/*

Dinner ended up taking awhile.

Not because Carol wasn't in the mood to eat . . . surprisingly, her appetite kicked in on the first bite . . . but more that it was the last (and first) meal that she and Daryl were going to have alone together, and she didn't want to rush it. So she chewed and swallowed each bite ten times over. Then she finished up the last few cold French Fries that Sophia had left in her box, and then she continued on to eat the last half dozen cheesy fries that Daryl insisted she help him finish up. Though he really didn't have to insist all that much.

Because she really was kind of starving.

Next time she'd know enough to order a sandwich to go along with her salad. But then she remembered . . . they were all out of next times. The next meal they had together was going to be probably a bowl of cold cereal down in the communal cafeteria off the lobby. Then that would be it.

For maybe a year.

That was the moment where Carol's appetite started to dry up again. Fortunately by then she was on her last two cheesy fries anyway, so she just dropped them back down onto Daryl's napkin, and insisted that she was full, so he should finish them up. And once he had, she gathered up all of their empty containers, and soiled napkins and pushed everything back down into the brown paper bag it had all come out of. Then that bag, she hoisted it up, and brought it over to stuff down into the small trash barrel over by the desk. And she did that, because she didn't want the food smells to keep wafting up into her nose for the rest of the night.

They might bother her stomach.

When she came back to the couch a few seconds later, she stopped and looked down at Daryl slumped back on the cushion, drinking his water. Then she looked over to the time . . . just after seven . . . and then finally over to Sophia back to sitting cross legged in front of the TV.

They were halfway through the third Toy Story.

"After this one's done it's going to have to be bedtime Sophia," Carol called to her daughter.

Sophia turned to look over her shoulder.

"Okay, mama."

When she turned away again, Carol let out a faint sigh as she dropped down onto the couch. Then she pulled her legs up and leaned over to rest her head against Daryl's shoulder.

After a brief pause, he tipped his head down.

"Something specific botherin' you?" He asked softly, "or just our general situation?"

"The general," she murmured while rubbing her cheek against his warm skin, "I don't want it to be tomorrow."

"Yeah," he let out a sigh, "I was havin' some similar thoughts over here." Then he patted her leg.

"Hey, how much of this movie's left?"

"Uh," she squinted for a second, staring at the image on the screen while at the same time thinking back to the last time she'd seen it, "maybe forty-five minutes." Her eyes shot up to his profile.

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking," he continued softly while reaching for her hand, "that she can finish her movie," he started to pull her off the couch, "while we can go have grown-up talk in the other room."

Feeling a little flutter of butterflies in her stomach, Carol had to bite down on the smile that was trying to spread across her face. But it had been a couple of decades since any man (and God knew she was including her husband there) had made her feel the way Daryl did.

Like she was a teenager again.

So when he had them both on their feet, with him looking down at her with that hopeful eyebrow, she couldn't help but give him a little smile.

"Okay," she whispered, "but we have to leave the door open this time."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"What'd you think I was gonna do to you woman?"

And of course when he said that, the shot of heat that went up her face then, made her skin burn like it was on fire. Really, she would have been happy to have a giant volcano to leap into, to save herself from having to answer that question.

Fortunately though, her embarrassment alone seemed to be enough of a response. It also seemed to provide some additional amusement for Daryl.

Because he let out a snort, while simultaneously putting a hand out to start backing her up.

"Come on Scarlett," he grunted, "let's go burn down the mansion."

And even though she was still trying to rub away the heat from her face, Carol still found herself giggling at the remark. Honest to God giggling.

So when she felt his hand run down her side as he started to turn her around the other way, all she could think was . . . God, if only she was single. Because she absolutely would have been _THRILLED_ , to burn down the mansion with him!

Even if it was just for the one night.

But she knew that wasn't what he'd meant anyway. It was just her damn, dormant hormones, kicking in again and embarrassing the daylights out of her.

Still though, when Daryl walked them into the bedroom for the second time in as many hours, she couldn't help but feel a bit of shyness settling over her. She wasn't quite sure what it was, maybe it was just him, but when they were alone, and he looked at her the way he was looking down at her right now, she really did feel like she was fifteen again. Then he shot her a wink . . . and she felt like burying her head against his chest. Instead she just took a quarter step back.

Because she was still afraid of those grownup hugs.

And how they were likely to make her heart hurt tomorrow.

"So what did you want to talk about?" She whispered while reaching out to let her fingertips slowly brush down along the buttons on his shirt.

"Well for one thing," he caught her hand just above his belt buckle, "unless you really did wanna to burn down the mansion, you need to stop doing that."

"Oh, sorry," she winced as she pulled her hand away, "I'm really bad at this."

"Carol," he reached out to brush his fingers down her cheek, "there ain't nothing to be bad at, because we ain't doing nothing." His eyebrow inched up, "you do know that I just wanted to talk, right?"

"Yeah," her mouth twisted in a bit of an embarrassed smile, "I did know that, I just, you were looking at me and I . . ." her voice faded, "I got out of sorts."

It was a hard admission to make, because it was a weakness. Another one. And coming from the life that she'd been leading, where _everything_ about her personality seemed to be a weakness, she was still trying so desperately, to work her way back to what she knew she had once been. A woman of confidence and belief in herself.

Currently operating with the romantic instincts of a teenage girl, did nothing to help that.

Not that she would change these new (old) feelings she had, for anything. It was just going to take her a little while to remember how to act like a woman talking to a man, and not a teenager talking to a boy.

Fortunately she had about three hundred and sixty-five upcoming phone calls, to get that sorted out.

In the meantime though, feeling Daryl's thumb brushing gently along her cheek, did kind of go a long way to remind her that she was very much dealing with a man. Because when she was a girl, she'd never known a teenage boy who had been as sure and gentle with his touch, as Daryl Dixon was with his. So now she was kind of wondering, if she'd known him back then, back when they were both kids, would he have been the same way? Or was that just maturity?

And with no other topics on their present agenda, she decided to ask.

"Were you like this when you were young?" She whispered.

"Like what?" He asked, as she saw his eyebrow quirk up in confusion. The sight of it made her eyes crinkle.

"Gentle," she clarified, "were you gentle like this when you were younger? I was just wondering what you were like back then."

Now feeling even more confused than he was a moment ago, Daryl snorted.

"Did you forget Carol, where I told you I've spent almost two years of my life in jail for fightin'?" He started to take a step back, "because that should tell something about what I was like when I was younger."

"No," Carol caught Daryl's hand when it fell from her cheek, "that only tells me how you were with other men," she slowly shook her head, "not how you were with girls or women. At least not how you were based on how you are with me," she shrugged, "or Sophia either for that matter. That man who helped her tonight with her juice box," she gave his fingers a little squeeze, " _he_ was gentle."

At that, she saw his eyes narrow a bit as he seemed to think about what she'd said. Finally he shook his head.

"I wouldn't use that word to describe myself, but also, I didn't know any girls back then that would've turned into women like you, so," he shrugged, "I haven't got any comparison to give about who I was then to who I am now."

Then he paused for a second, and Carol could tell he was still thinking about the question, so she stayed quiet and just let him think.

Finally he bit his lip.

"I guess," his jaw twisted, "if you're pressing the point, I could tell you that I've always liked animals, and they've always liked me. Little kids too. Even when I was one, the littler ones would always want to come play with me." His brow furrowed a bit then as he tipped his head.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah," she gave him a soft smile, "yeah it really does."

Beloved by animals and very small children . . . from birth.

That was exactly what she wanted to know.

"So," with a faint sigh she lowered herself down to the edge of the mattress, "your turn. Did you have anything that you've wanted to ask me?"

For a moment Daryl just looked down, but then finally he nodded.

"Yeah," he reached out to brush his fingers through her hair, "this. I was wonderin' about this. Do you keep it short and silvery 'cuz you like it?" His lips pursed as his arm fell back to his side, "or because it's had to be that way?"

Though he knew the question was possibly going to tread into a sensitive area, he still couldn't stop himself from asking it. Because he liked her hair, she had the face for it, but it wasn't a traditional look for someone her age. So before he really put his foot in his mouth and complimented her on it, he just wanted to know if she had good reason to hate it or not.

And he could see kind of a wistful smile touch her lips, right before her hand came up to ghost over those little spikes. That's when he knew . . . it was a sensitive area.

It was too late to take it back though.

"Actually," Carol bit her lip, "the length and the color came about for different reasons. The grey, it was two months after my thirty-fifth birthday. And it wasn't even gradual, I just woke up with it one day." She huffed, "I guess it was just one day too many with Ed. And I decided to leave it because one, I was kind of in a major depression then and didn't much care what I looked like. And two, I was really hoping maybe he'd lose interest and not want to, well," she shrugged, "you know. But," her voice faded off, "it didn't work."

"I'm sorry," Daryl stooped down to touch her knee, "if you don't wanna talk about it, just," he shook his head, "don't. Because I don't wanna bring up bad memories for ya."

"No, no," her brow furrowed slightly, "it's okay. That was just the situation as it was. Though the day it all got cut off," she bit her lip, " _that_ was a bad day. It was last June, a Friday, and I'd gone to the store for groceries but when I came in, the phone was ringing and I got busy talking to Sophia's school about a fundraiser, and then making dinner, because God knew that dinner couldn't be late, so I just plain forgot that I hadn't finished emptying out the car. I'd put Ed's beer in the trunk because it wouldn't fit with the bags in the back seat. And it was a typical ninety plus day, probably well over a hundred in that damn trunk."

Seeing Daryl's nose wrinkle, she nodded.

"Yeah, the beer exploded. Sixteen bottles. And it wasn't until after Ed got home and was looking for his Coors, that I remembered where they were. When we got out there and he saw all that foam and glass that had gone everywhere," her jaw clenched as her gaze fell to the carpet, "he just went crazy. And my hair was longer then," her eyes snapped back up to Daryl's, "like down to my shoulders. And he grabbed it and dragged me back into the house. Unfortunately the first sharp object he saw when we got back inside, were the pinking shears in my sewing basket. So he grabbed those and pinned me down on the floor, and just started hacking away. I was screaming the whole time because I was just waiting for him to cut off a piece of my ear, or slice into my neck, but somehow I got through it without losing anything vital. But by the time he was done, my head was bleeding all over and it just looked like I'd put it under a lawnmower blade." Her jaw twitched, "felt like it too. It was the middle of the summer, and I couldn't leave the house for weeks without a scarf and a hat over the bandages and band-aids. I think people at the market thought I had cancer or something, but that was preferable to anyone seeing me looking like Frankenstein's girlfriend. But then finally," she sighed, "around August, the cuts had healed all over and the hair had started growing in again. But of course it was all uneven because he'd chopped some places down to the scalp so I had to keep trimming it and trimming it, and," she shrugged, "long story short, it's been about ten months and this is as long as it's grown."

For a moment after she finished speaking, Daryl was quiet, not because he didn't know what to say, but because he was very seriously, and truly, considering tracking down her husband tomorrow night. He had an idea on how he could put those pinking shears to good use.

Maybe snip something off that that asshole didn't deserve to keep.

And he might have gotten completely bogged down in his speculative plans, if not for suddenly noticing that Carol was rubbing her eyes.

There were tears in them.

And he felt just awful then, because he was the one that asked about the story.

So he was the one that had drug all this up.

"Are you okay?" He whispered while reaching out to touch her knee. And he saw her nod, right before surprisin' him, with a little smile.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "actually I am okay. It felt kind of good to get that one out." Her lip quirked up, "I've never had anybody to talk to, you know? I lost track of all my old friends years ago, and Ed didn't approve of me making new ones," she rolled her eyes, "for obvious reasons. So, yeah," she let out a huff, "thank you for listening."

Daryl snorted.

"That's kinda funny, because I was just gonna apologize for upsetting you,"

"You didn't," her eyes crinkled, "it was my past that was upsetting, but having somebody who cares about what happened," she put her hand down onto his, "that's nice."

That time Daryl didn't actually know what to say, so he just turned his hand over, and laced their fingers together.

After a few more seconds had passed though, his brow wrinkled.

"You gonna let it grow long again?"

"Well," she huffed, "that is the funny thing, because I've been thinking that I just might keep it short. It is cooler in the heat, and less fuss overall." She brought her hand up to brush along one side, "I'll probably let it grow out a little more though. I always feel like my ears are sticking out."

He immediately shook his head.

"They're not." Then he reached up to brush his fingers along her neck, "you look real pretty. I like the color too. It suits you," his lip quirked up, "goes with your eyes."

A faint blush touched her cheeks.

"Thank you." She whispered back. But then another thought came to her, and her lips started to twitch.

"You know," she continued with a faintly amused tone, "looking at you on Friday, I would not have realized you were such a smooth talker."

"Pfft," he snorted, "stop."

And she let out a little chuckle, before reaching out to pat the space beside her on the mattress.

"Now come sit with me, and we'll have more grownup talk."

So he got up from the floor, and he sat down next to her on the bed . . . and they went on like that. Back and forth, just sharing little stories, and pieces of their lives before. Mostly they stayed away from the harder stuff though, and just talked about more general things. Like Carol's two years at the University of Kentucky, and how she had to drop out when her father got sick with cancer for the first time. Then the few years she'd worked waitressing to keep up on the medical bills. And how after her daddy went into remission, and the bills were caught up, that she'd gotten herself certified to work in a daycare. But then how she'd almost had to quit the first month, because she kept falling in love with the babies.

Daryl liked that story.

It made him smile. Like a real full bright smile, that made Carol's heart happy to see. Then he told her how he'd worked as a peewee football coach one season at the elementary school in his town, and how much he'd liked that. But that he'd had to stop because one of the parents found out he'd been in prison, and it didn't matter that it had been a few years earlier and had nothing to do with kids. The principal told him he couldn't help out with the team anymore.

That one had made Carol sad, because she could see even then, years later, how it still bothered Daryl.

But then he told her how the principal had called him back a week later, and said he'd found another job for him. One doing maintenance stuff on the school buses. He'd known that Daryl was good with engines, because he'd learned them as a trade at the technical high school. So Daryl said he did that for a few years, working a half time shift during the school months. He said it was good part-time work, but then he got into another bar fight, and he ended up losing that job because one screw-up when he was nineteen was something the school said they could overlook, but going back in when he was twenty-five was something they _couldn't_ overlook.

Again, Carol felt a bit of an ache in her chest when she heard that, because there was so much lost potential in this man. Not that she thought he'd appreciate her pity, but just . . . it bothered her to know how sad his life had been.

Though she'd have to imagine in the alternative, he might just say the same thing about her.

And that's when she decided to guide the conversation a little, to try and keep it on a positive note. So she asked him about his best memory, out of all of them. And he was quiet for a minute before a soft smile touched his lips. And he told her how one spring day when he was six, his momma had gone in and taken him and Merle out of school. And she drove them down to Alpharetta, and they went to the movies. It was a double feature of old sci fi classics from the fifties. They saw the giant ant one, and the fifty foot lady. Then she took them out for hot dogs and ice cream, and she sang along with the radio all the way home. He said she never did explain why she did it, it wasn't any of their birthdays or anything like that. It was just a real nice day.

One that she'd given them for no reason.

Seeing Daryl's eyes looked a little teary after that one, Carol was about to change the subject again . . . to tell him some silly story about the time she tried to dye her hair blonde and it came out orange . . . when Sophia knocked on the open bedroom door.

"The movie's over, Mama," she said. And when Daryl turned away to pinch his nose, Carol immediately leaned around him.

"Okay baby. You go in and brush your teeth and go to the bathroom, then we'll read some Harry Potter before lights out."

Seeing how her daughter's little face lit up at that plan, gave Carol a warm feeling in her stomach. And once Sophia was gone . . . raced off really, so they could start reading more quickly . . . Carol turned back to Daryl.

"You want to stay for Harry Potter?" She asked him with a little smile.

And his lip quirked up . . . his eyes were dry by then.

"That's okay." He shook his head, "I didn't read the other ones so I'd probably be lost." He patted her leg.

"I'll go wait for ya in the other room."

Then he stood up and walked out.

Ten seconds later he walked back in again.

"You'll probably need these," he stated flatly, while dropping the Harry Potter books down on the mattress, "otherwise it's gonna be a real short bedtime story."

Carol chuckled as she leaned over to pick them up.

"Thank you!" She called out . . . but he was already halfway out of the room again.

"Yep," he waved over his shoulder, "I'll keep the couch warm."

And he was gone again.

That time she heard a "night Daryl" from Sophia just after he walked out . . . she must have just been coming out of the bathroom. And then immediately after came Daryl's response of, "good night 'darlin. You have sweet dreams," and Carol's eyes crinkled.

 _Yep, he'd definitely make a good part-time proxy daddy._

/*/*/*/*/

It took almost an hour to get through the first two chapters of the Prisoner of Azkaban. But fortunately by then it was almost nine, and Sophia was starting to get sleepy anyway. So after tucking a folded tissue into the chapter to hold the page, Carol put the book on the nightstand and gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek, before tucking the blankets up to her (and Anna Marie's) chin(s).

Sophia's eyes were already falling shut by then.

On her way out of the room, Carol paused to turn out the overhead light, before she pulled the door closed behind her.

It wasn't until she was stepping out into the hallway, that she realized at some point while they were reading, Daryl had gone in to take a shower.

She could hear the water running.

So Carol continued on into the sitting room and turned out the overhead light there too. Then she turned on one of the two standing lamps, and stood there in front of the couch for a moment, rubbing her eye.

Because she was getting tired.

Not that it was really so late . . . again, it was barely nine o'clock . . . but it had been a busy, VERY stressful, two days. Which meant that a little early exhaustion was understandable. But she didn't want to go to bed yet.

It would be a waste of her time left with Daryl.

So instead she just went out to hall closet, and got herself one each of the spare pillows and blankets that had been left tucked up on the top shelf.

Then she went back to the sitting room, picked up a pen and the pad of hotel stationery from the desk. Once she got back over to the couch, she put the pillow down on one end, and the blanket in the middle.

She scribbled a short note on the pad of paper.

' _Wake me when you're out.'_

The note she placed down onto the middle of the empty coffee table, before she turned and shook out the blanket.

Finally she laid herself down on the couch.

But after seeing what was being shown on the TV . . . some kind of war movie . . . she grabbed the remote and kept flipping the channels until she got to something that didn't have any teenyboppers in it, or images of people being murdered or blown up. She ended up settling on some movie with George Clooney. One where he was playing a lawyer.

It seemed like it was almost over.

That didn't matter really though, because she could feel her eyes closing before she'd even dropped the remote back on the coffee table.

The next thing she heard was the sound of Daryl's voice whispering in her ear.

"You stole my bed."

And her eyes crinkled, just before her lashes slowly opened.

His face was about two inches away from hers. She could see that his hair was damp, and all of his little five o'clock shadow stubbles, had been shaved away.

He looked really good.

"Borrowed," she yawned back, with her hand half over her mouth, "only borrowed. I needed to rest my eyes for a minute." She started to push herself up, but Daryl put his hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine," he murmured with a pat, "you can lie down if you want, I'll just sit on the floor."

"No," she blinked and looked up at him, "that's silly. I wanted you to wake me up so I could sit with you," she gave him a sleepy smile, "it defeats the purpose if you're going to sit on the floor."

"Well," he shrugged, "when you put it that way," his lip quirked up, "move over."

She laughed.

"Okay, okay," she chuckled, while slowly shifting herself up and over to the middle of the couch, "I'm moving."

Once she was out of the way, he moved her pillow and sat down.

Even though it was obvious that he'd just taken a shower, he'd put his jeans back on again. Though he was just wearing a t-shirt now and not the cotton shirt he'd been wearing all day. Either way, Carol was just happy to see his arms were still out.

She did so love looking at his arms.

And after she'd reached over to pick up the remote, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Here," she pushed the remote into his hand, "I'm not fussy, just no guts please."

"Got it," he murmured while slowly flipping up the channels, "no guts."

After a moment he stopped.

"This okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, feeling her cheek brush against his skin, "that's fine."

 _Dances With Wolves._

It was actually kind of perfect. It was a nice, long, slow movie. And they'd already gotten past the Civil War hospital scene that Carol remembered had been really gross, so she was pleased to just be able to look at the pretty scenery.

They had been watching for about an hour, (the buffalo hunt had just begun), when Daryl commented that this one was one of his favorite movies. And Carol smiled, because she could kind of see that. Then he added, sort of hesitantly, about how he'd grown up tracking and hunting in the woods, and that the "bow and bolts" was the only way he really liked to hunt even today.

And that he spent probably half of his weekends, just wandering through the forest catching game.

Now _that_ , actually surprised her. Not him hunting, that seemed very much in line with his character, but that there was this whole 'Woodsman of the Forest' element of his life, that he hadn't mentioned even once in all the time they'd been talking. Granted, they'd only had about an hour alone together before Sophia had come in, but Carol was taking (from the tone of his voice) that this was kind of a big piece of his life, and it was just funny when he was telling her those other stories, that nothing about the woods or his 'bow skills,' had come up. But that's when she realized, maybe he hadn't said anything before . . . because it _was_ important to him. So maybe he had to get comfortable with the idea of telling her about it.

He had to decide that he trusted her enough.

And that was around the point, where Carol realized that she hadn't actually said anything back to Daryl when he'd told her about this thing that she'd just deduced was this huge piece of his personal life. And now she felt kind of like a jerk.

So she reached over and put her hand on his knee.

"I'd like to hear about your hunting sometime."

And when his eyes snapped over to hers, she added with a soft smile, "that is if you'd like to tell me."

"Yeah," his words were quiet, as his attention drifted back to the screen, "yeah, I could do that. If you wanted to hear about it. Maybe someday when you call, if we've got nothing else to talk about."

Though he tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, Carol could tell that he was pleased she'd shown an interest in hearing about that part of his world.

Then he moved his hand over, and put it over hers . . . and he laced their fingers together.

And that's how they watched the rest of the film. With her slumped against his side, and him holding her hand.

As tame little first dates went, it was pretty much perfect.

By the end of the movie though, Carol was getting really sleepy again. She'd actually been yawning steadily, for the last twenty minutes or so of the film.

Of course by then it was well after eleven, and as the credits began to roll, Daryl reached over to pat her arm.

"You should go to bed."

"Yep," she blinked and yawned, "I should do that."

Looking down and over to see that Carol's eyes were half shut, Daryl huffed.

"Okay woman, I'm gonna run to the bathroom, and then I'm going to escort you home."

She murmured back a, "'k," that Daryl took as enough acknowledgment of his words that she hadn't actually fallen asleep yet. So he let go of her hand, and stood up.

When he looked behind him, Carol was yawning into her arm.

"Somebody stayed up past her bedtime," he murmured to himself, before turning to head off and take care of his business.

Too many bottled waters that night.

When he came back from the bathroom about a minute or so later, it wasn't a huge shock to find that Carol had completely passed out again. Basically she was slumped over in almost the same position she'd been in when he'd gotten out of the shower.

Though this time she was missing the pillow and blanket.

And not having the heart to wake her when she looked so peaceful, he debated just pickin' her up and carryin' her into her own bed. But then he thought about her waking up in there, when she had told him earlier that she was seeing those images playing out against the blinds.

That wouldn't be nice if that's what she woke up to the middle of the night.

So no . . . his jaw clenched . . . he couldn't do that to her. But obviously he couldn't trade beds and go sleep with Sophia either, so he needed to figure something else out.

Then he realized he could steal her pillow off the bed, and that there was probably another blanket in one of the closets.

That's all he really needed.

So after he'd gotten Carol shifted around with the pillow back under her head, and the blanket pulled up and over her shoulders, he brushed his fingers along her cheek.

Then he went about getting himself sorted.

And sure enough, he did find that there were two blankets in the hall closet, and even another pillow in there too. Which meant that he didn't have to go into the bedroom at all. Great.

Because he really didn't want to have to worry about waking up Sophia.

Instead, he just tucked the pillow under his arm, and the blankets over his shoulder as went back into the sitting room. Once he was there, he moved the coffee table over to the front of the TV stand, and then walked back to lay one of the blankets out on carpet.

After that, he dropped down his pillow and the other blanket. And if he was honest with himself, he knew that he was happier that things had worked out this way. He didn't mind sleeping on the floor, it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than sleeping out in the woods, and now he could be right there with Carol.

Which was the only place he really wanted to be.

So once he got his jeans off, he laid down and covered himself up. Then he reached back to pick up the remote from where he'd left on the edge of the couch. And though he turned the volume down on the TV, he left the picture on as a nightlight of sorts.

It actually didn't take long before he could feel himself droppin' off . . . but then his eyes popped open wide again, straight up onto the shadows crossing the ceiling.

It was definitely much later.

And for a moment he had a rush of panic, thinking that maybe he'd been hearing middle of the night gunshots again. But as he lay there, heart poundin', he finally realized that the sound he'd heard . . . was voices.

Out in the hall.

They weren't the screamin' kind though, they were actually fairly soft . . . but he had real good ears. And he knew that nobody who was witnessing any kind of attack along the lines that he'd seen, would be using a tone as soft as those people were.

So he tried to calm himself as he pushed the blanket back, and then himself up to his feet. Then he leaned down to grab his jeans, and pull his knife out from the pocket. The jeans he quickly pulled back on over his boxers.

The knife he pulled from the sheath, and held in his hand.

And after a quick eye over to Carol . . . still sleepin' soundly . . . he headed off towards the door, because there was no way he was gettin' back to sleep until he found out what was goin' on out in the hallway at . . . his eyes shot over to the cable clock . . . two seventeen in the morning.

Once he was standing in front of the door, he stood listening with his ear pressed to the wood. It took a few seconds though, before he could make out the exact words that were being said out in that hallway.

". . . ills started this afternoon. And he's just been getting worse ever since."

It was a woman talking, and she sounded real stressed. And okay . . . Daryl nodded slowly to himself . . . there was a man out there too.

He was answering her back.

"Yes ma'am, that's what the hotel operator told me that you told her, so we immediately called for an ambulance. I could hear them just arriving when I got on the elevator."

Now having his curiosity about this situation somewhat perked up . . . whoever this dude was, he had to be pretty sick to be gettin' dragged off to the hospital in the dead of night . . . Daryl closed one eye and leaned in close to look out through the peephole.

What he saw out in the corridor, in the open doorway of the room diagonally across from theirs, was a young'ish blonde, in her robe and slippers, talking to somebody that looked like they had to work for the hotel security team. For one thing, he had on a uniform like Christopher had been wearin' out front.

And he also had a walkie talkie in his hand.

Which was the exact moment that the walkie talkie started to squawk.

"Damon, on channel three."

The security guard took a step back as he turned and brought the walkie to his mouth.

"Yeah, Damon here."

"EMTs are on the elevator," came the responding crackle, "and as soon as they get there, I need you to head on down to three. We've got a disturbance on the floor."

Even as the hairs on the back of Daryl's neck were going up, he heard "Damon" ask, somewhat worriedly, "what kind of disturbance?"

Clearly Christopher had briefed his team on things to watch for. But fortunately, the next word through that little speaker was, "drunk. Guy's apparently been singing Barry Manilow out in the corridor for the last twenty minutes. Tasha isn't having any luck getting him back into his room. And FYI, he's naked."

And when Damon sighed, "yeah, of course he is," Daryl had to bite down a snort. Because he was thinkin' then, it must be an interesting job, working at a hotel. That was one thing he'd never done, and it wasn't on his to do list.

The idea of having to wear a uniform all day made his skin crawl.

That was a thought that was pushed aside when he heard some clattering coming from down the hall. Unfortunately the scope of the peephole didn't let him see that far, but he had to figure, based on the reactions of the two people that he could see (Damon and the woman), that it was the ambulance crew arriving.

"Right here," Damon called out, with a gesture towards the open door, "thirty-two year old white male, name of Scott Bagdon. He's had chills and a high fever since this afternoon, and his wife here," he pointed to the lady in the robe, "she said he's been completely delirious for the last half hour. That's when she called us and we called you."

The EMTs had arrived at the door about halfway through Damon's spiel. The younger of the two, the Asian guy, was standing there with his hand on the empty stretcher, and the other one, the white guy, he had his bald head poked through the open door.

But once they'd heard all of the particulars, the one at the door disappeared inside the room for a few seconds. When he stepped back out into the hallway, he was giving the wife a hard look.

"Has your husband suffered any injuries or been exposed to any diseases, that you know of?"

She immediately shook her head.

"Not that I know of, no."

"And he hasn't been bitten?" The younger guy asked, and she immediately whipped her head around the other way.

"Bitten?" She repeated in confusion, "like by a spider?"

At that, Daryl say the Asian guy shoot a quick glance over to his partner, before looking back to the woman.

"A spider," he started to drum his fingers on the end of the gurney, "or anything else?"

"No," she slowly shook her head, "no, I don't think so. He didn't mention anything."

At that point Daryl was gettin' a little suspicious about the questions these guys were asking, and how they didn't seem to be in any big almighty rush to get that guy to a hospital.

Which was just exactly the point where Damon the security dude, cut in to say that he had to be going to that other call. So he took off down the corridor with a final, "good luck Mrs. Bagdon," over his shoulder. And then it was just the pretty young wife and the two EMTs still standing out in hall.

Then she was shaking her head as she looked back and forth between the two men.

"Well, aren't you going to take him _in_?" She asked with what Daryl could see was clear confusion and frustration.

He was feelin' a bit of that himself.

But the bald guy quickly stepped up then.

"Yes ma'am," he tapped the radio on his collar, "we just need to call this in. I was going to suggest though, that if you're going with us, you might want to get dressed now, and we'll be in to take him out in just a minute."

And the woman looked down then at her fuzzy robe and slippers, like she'd completely forgotten that she was wearing them . . . Daryl figured that she probably had. Because then she rushing past baldy with a, "yes, of course, I'll be ready in a moment."

After she disappeared through the doorway with her bathrobe swirling behind her, baldy walked over to join his partner on the other side of the corridor.

The two of them were now right outside of Daryl's door, standing about a half a foot to the left of the actual room entrance. And thank God for that, because otherwise when they started whispering, Daryl wouldn't have been able to hear a God damn thing that they were saying. Though what they did say, was very strange. Because first it was the Asian guy, asking quote, "how much time do we have until he's gone?" Like it was just a done deal that the sick guy was totally fucked.

 _How would he know that?_

But it didn't take Daryl long to get the answer to that question. Because then baldy was leaning down, and whispering back.

"He's definitely circling the drain, and we don't want him on the bus when he goes. Garcia over on Lifeline, he said they had one go on Friday night and it was a fucking nightmare. The cops had to come play cleanup. So let's just strap this one down good, and take him over to St. Lucia's. They're only six blocks away, and Benny told me they aren't turning people away yet. Not like some of the other hospitals."

The younger one was quiet for a second then, just staring down at the carpet, before he looked back up.

"You hearing anything about a cure yet?"

"Naw," baldy shook his head, "not that I heard. But," he shrugged, "it's still early days, right?"

"Yeah," the younger guy nodded slowly, "right." He swallowed, "early days. So," his attention drifted over towards the open door then, "you ready to do this thing? And what do you want to do about the wife?"

"The wife," the older guy answered, "we'll just tell her policy is she can't ride with us and she can meet us there. Otherwise yeah," he slapped his buddy on the back, "yeah, let's do it."

And then he did something that actually scared the crap out of Daryl . . . he made the sign of the cross.

Daryl actually muttered a, "what the fuck?" to himself when he saw that. But fortunately the guys couldn't hear him through his door, because they were already pushing the gurney into the one across the hall.

And it made enough noise bouncin' over the doorjamb, to wake the dead.

So Daryl stood there, with his knife tapping against his leg, waitin' for everyone to come back out again.

It took about two minutes before the end of the gurney began to poke its head out . . . and then he could see the man upon it. And he was indeed strapped down from shoulders to chest, to hips, to legs, to ankles, like you'd think they would for a serious mental patient. Still though, as he was rolled out, the man was sweating and twitching and writhing on the gurney, rantin' something about Jesus and the sinners.

And how the devil was gonna rise up and take his pound.

It was creepy ass shit, really. And that was even though it was obvious to Daryl that the poor bastard was completely out of his head. Still though, it didn't make what that poor bastard was saying, anymore okay. So he was pretty happy when those ambulance guys started pushin' the stretcher down the corridor.

But they'd only gotten about ten feet or so, before the wife came running out the open door, now dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt, but still yanking on one of her sneakers.

"Wait!" She yelled, while turning back to grab the doorknob, "I'll ride down with you!"

So the gurney stopped, and the guys waited.

Everything in Daryl's view now for that peephole angle where they were all frozen, was kinda distorted. Like a kaleidoscope starting to twist, but he could still see the basics okay enough. So he saw the wife shoving what looked like her car keys into her jeans pocket, while still hopping along trying to fix the back part of that sneaker. And she stumbled a little, and fell against the side of the gurney . . . and that's when Daryl saw the God damndest thing. The husband, who was still laying there rantin', his head turned . . . and he chomped.

Just once.

But he did it, it was clear as day, but still clear in that fucked up, twisted kaleidoscope way. Then his head dropped back, and it looked like he passed out.

And even though what seemed to be wrong with this dude, didn't have anything to do with what seemed to have been wrong with those funeral home attackers . . . for one thing he was sick as a dog, and those crazy people were pretty damn spry on their feet . . . that chomp still sent a solid shiver down Daryl's spine.

The only person who said anything about what had just happened though, was baldy. He just shot a look over to the Asian kid with an anxious mutter of, "we gotta go."

And then they started rolling that gurney double time.

The wife was scurrying along behind them.

Daryl twisted his neck, trying to keep the three of them in his sight, but there was only so far that peephole peepin' could go. So it wasn't long 'til they were out of view. That's when he finally turned around, and slumped back against the door. There was only one thought rolling around in his head then.

" _What the fuck was that?!"_

/*/*/*/*/

Carol let out a sigh as she turned away from her daughter sitting on the bench seat between her and Daryl, rereading the first two chapters of the Prison of Azkaban.

Instead Carol shifted her attention to look out the passenger side window of Daryl's truck.

It was just after two pm, and she and Daryl and Sophia were stopped at a red light in the middle of Little Five Points. There were no signs here of any of the violence that they kept bumping against all weekend. No, this was just a nice Sunday afternoon, in a nice, "safe" (relatively speaking) part of the city, so there were a lot of people around. Most of them were laughing or talking as they walked along the sidewalks or headed into or out of, one of the many funky little shops or trendy restaurants, lining that section of the street.

And just a few feet away from her window, there was a young'ish man and a little girl of around five or six, standing on the corner, about to cross over to the median. Going by the shared flaming red hair, and pale freckled skin, Carol was assuming that they were father and daughter. The man was holding the little girl's hand.

She was eating an ice cream cone.

This was the neighborhood where their new shelter was located. The beds still wouldn't be available until three, but after they'd left the hotel, and taken a cab (which they'd called for ahead of time) over to pick up Daryl's truck, Daryl had said that they might as well check out the neighborhood while they had the time. They could look around a bit from the safety of the cab, and then get a bite to eat from a drive-thru.

Eating would be safer inside the truck cab too.

Yeah, Daryl had been all about safety, all day. Not that Carol didn't understand _why,_ safety was so much on his mind, but it had somehow become his only focus. From the point where she'd first woken up to find that he was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch, using a new hotel's pen and their old hotel's city map, to figure out exactly where they needed to go that day, and what their fastest, most direct routes were, to get from A to B to C.

For a few seconds she'd just laid there listening to him mutter to himself. But then she'd reached out and put her hand on his neck . . . and he'd jumped. Then he'd turned around to give her a small, tight smile as he'd patted her knee through the blanket and said good morning. But that was all he'd said. And that was all he'd done. Because after that, he'd just returned to his mutterings over the map, and she'd slumped back against her pillow.

Because it was clear to her then just how distracted he was.

And that level of distraction, and focus on planning and safety, had stayed with him through the three of them getting washed up and dressed, and sorting out their bags. In the end, he'd ended up just giving her and Sophia both all of the jerky he'd bought for himself, and the extra hundred minute phone card too. He'd told her that he'd pick up a few new minute cards on the way home. So he was still being really sweet and looking after them, that much had been clear. But there was something in his behavior that _was_ different.

He wasn't touching her at all.

And she'd been getting used to that, the way he'd reach for her hand or brush his fingers along her jaw . . . like he just needed to be near her as long as she was around. And that had made her feel good. But all morning, it was more like was too distracted with whatever was going through his head, to really see what was right in front of his face. So when he'd step around her without really looking at her, or making any kind of contact, she'd tried not to let it hurt her feelings.

Even though it kind of did.

But when it actually came time to leave the room to go down and get some breakfast, his mindset seemed to change again. All the way down in the elevator, he'd held her hand, and brushed his thumb along the center of her palm. He was being really sweet and tactile again.

That had gone a long way towards making up for how distant he'd seemed in the room.

And then when they finally arrived down in the lobby where they were just too many people heading out with their bags on their arms and their suitcases rolling along behind them, Daryl had her tucked up against one side of him, and Sophia tucked up on the other.

He had been so careful with both of them.

It had been like having a personal security detail. And really, even with her nerves as wired as they were . . . because she obviously hadn't been any happier to have to leave the room than he'd been . . . Carol had strangely enough, felt pretty safe. Because the one thing that she was coming to trust more than anything . . . were Daryl's instincts. So even if she knew he couldn't fight one of those crazy people if they turned up (nobody could fight them) at that point, she was starting to believe that he would actually be able to pick up on any of that insanity brewing _around_ them, before it actually crashed _into_ them.

He just had that way about him.

Even when they walked into the dining area off the far side of the lobby, he made sure that there was nobody else going along the breakfast buffet tables, before he let their little group go over to them. There were maybe fifteen or twenty people already in the room at that point, and of those, only five of them were filling their plates. But still, Daryl hadn't wanted to get worked into a line with people close around them.

It wasn't safe.

That was already the phrase of the day.

But after they'd spent maybe three or four minutes huddled around the brick wall in the back, everyone else had finally cleared out from around the buffet. And wanting to make a quick move before more people arrived, Daryl was already whispering to her and Sophia on their way down front, to grab everything they wanted right then, because he only wanted to make the one trip.

So they'd loaded up their trays with hot and cold cereals and scrambled eggs, and muffins and juice and coffee. And Daryl had even grabbed a few slices of bacon, so Carol had known then that his appetite was coming back. Then after they'd grabbed everything that they could reasonably carry (they'd all woken up starving and the continental breakfast was much better than they'd expected) Daryl had led them over to a table on the far side of the room, where nobody else had ventured to set up camp yet.

Once more though, it was just safer to sit alone.

But the second key benefit of that table, at least as far as Carol had seen . . . and she was sure it was the main reason Daryl had picked it . . . was that there was also a bright red, (alarmed), Emergency Exit door not ten feet away from them. Which had meant that if something bad had started to happen over in the 'crowded' area . . . though that crowd was pretty small . . . the three of them could've headed right out the door before that hypothetical violence could spill in their direction.

Again, Daryl had planned for everything.

The only thing that had been a little surprising, was that he hadn't rushed them to hurry up and eat so they could get back up to their locked room. But maybe he'd figured that as long as they had the good buffer zone around them, with an easy exit, that there was no reason for them to have to run straight back upstairs. And really nothing, to Carol's eye anyway, had seemed to be amiss at all. Truly, _more_ than half of the people who had come down to breakfast (and they were there in the ten to ten-fifty am window) had shown up in their pajamas. So in a situation where people were walking around with bedhead, in their flip flops and t-shirts and drawstring flannel pants, nobody there had seemed threatening at all.

That might have been part of what helped to put Daryl more at ease.

Either way, he let them stay until they'd finished everything they'd grabbed, and then they'd gone back to the room again. Fortunately checkout wasn't until noon, so they'd just hung around in the sitting room watching a new Muppet movie until then. At least that's what Carol and Sophia had done. Daryl had spent that whole time in the bedroom, flipping channels, watching all of the Sunday morning newscasts that he could. A lot of them were doing specials on the air disasters.

Another plane had disappeared overnight.

Carol had briefly considered going in to join him to see what other kind of hell was going on out in the world, but she'd decided that the Muppets were a better choice. She just didn't have the stomach for reality that day. Not with them planning to separate in a few hours.

It would have just jacked her nerves up even further.

And she'd already been feeling pretty sick.

At first, as in when she'd first woken up, she'd thought that it was just the hunger pangs in her stomach. And that was part of it, but then after she'd eaten and she'd still felt strange, she'd thought that maybe it was just the food not sitting well. But it wasn't the hunger or the food. It was just fear. A giant lead ball of it, sitting there in the middle of her stomach.

It was still there now.

Really every time she thought about what they were planning to do, to go off and live in this strange place with this big crowd of other women and children . . . when crowds were such a dangerous thing right now . . . Carol wanted to weep. But she'd been hiding that from Daryl.

And of course from Sophia too.

Neither of them could know how scared she was. Because really . . . there was no point in sharing that information. The only other option for them was to go back home to Ed, and good Christ, thinking about doing that was even more terrifying than the idea of going to live in a crowded shelter!

Basically Carol was afraid that they were damned either way though.

Even sitting there at that intersection in Five Points, where the light had just turned green, she could feel her eyes beginning to tear up again.

It was at least the tenth time that day.

And once more she tried to blink the moisture away before either of her travel companions noticed what was happening. When that didn't work, and the truck started to move forward, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn't until she realized that Daryl had just pulled off and turned in somewhere, that Carol let her wet flashes flutter open again.

When she looked around, it was kind of a surprise to see that they were in a Target parking lot.

And Daryl was pulling over to park.

They were way down on the far side though, in the totally empty area where nobody else ever parked, (except the occasional stoner box boy), because it was a half mile walk to the store entrance. No stoner boys appeared to be around today though.

It was just a whole lot of empty parking spaces all shimmering in the mid-afternoon heat.

And when Carol looked over Sophia's head . . . she still had her face buried in her book . . . she saw that Daryl was staring at her. And there was the strangest look on his face.

Sort of desperate, but kind of determined at the same time.

"I need to talk to you," he said quietly, "and this is probably the safest place to do it. Just wait for me," he pushed the button for the locks, "and I'll come around to get you."

"Um yeah," she nodded slowly, "okay."

This was weird. It was really weird. Because they'd basically said all of the personal stuff that they needed to say, last night. And they'd covered all of the practical/logistical stuff on safety and staying in touch, that morning.

So Carol really wasn't sure what else there was to talk about.

But she figured Daryl had his reasons, so just unclicked her seatbelt and let it slowly snap back against the seat.

Out through the front windshield, she could see Daryl squinting in the sun as he walked around the front of the truck. And then he was coming up to her door, and he was opening it up, and putting his hand out.

So she let him take it.

After he'd helped her down though, he let it go. Then he leaned his head around to call in to Sophia.

"We'll be done talkin' in a couple minutes darlin'," and Sophia gave him a little nod and a smile, before she went back to her book.

And after staring in there at her for a second, Daryl slowly pushed the door shut. Then he paused, while looking just to the side of Carol's left shoulder.

His eyes really weren't focused.

And Carol was just about to prompt him, to ask what it was he wanted to talk about, when his gaze snapped back to hers.

"I was just sortin' my thoughts," he said, seeming to sense what she was about to say. Then he took a deep breath.

"Okay," he slowly exhaled, "I want to say something, and I just want you to listen to me, okay? Just let me get it all out, and then you can take it in and say what you wanna say. But just please," he gave her an imploring look, "let me say it at my pace, all right?"

"Yeah," Carol nodded as her brow furrowed and her arms came up to wrap around her body, "of course. What is it?"

"All right," his jaw clenched, "so I've had this thought that's been rolling around in the back of my head for about twenty-four hours now and I just kept battin' it away because I thought it was a dumb idea, and it'd never work, but all day long it's been eating at me like a tapeworm, and I just figured well," he huffed out a breath, "what the hell, I'll say it and be done with it. So, uh anyway," he scratched his cheek, "I grew up, and still live, in this little town called Blackburn. It backs right up on the Chattahoochee National Forest. There's not much there besides the basics. We got two banks, a volunteer fire department, a small sheriff's department and an even smaller health clinic. As far as shopping goes, we got a Piggly Wiggly, a brand new 24 hour CVS, and a fancy thrift shop they started callin' a consignment store, a couple years ago. We get a few tourists in the summer months with folks passing through to go camping out in the forest. Even with those few outsiders though, the town's real safe." He nodded, "we ain't had a murder in a good six years, and that was a whacked out meth thing with one of the way out country folks. There a few hundred of those that live in these little houses on winding roads, that lead way off into the woods. They don't associate much with the rest of the town. And the town on the whole," he swallowed, "it's about fifteen hundred people, spread over five by four square miles, but a lot of that is trees, so anyway you cut it, we're pretty small. But in the midst of those fifteen hundred or so folks, there are these two ladies, Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta. They're kinda dippy, flower child, old school hippies, and they're the only lesbian couple I know of in town. They're in their sixties now and sorta old biddies." He put his hand up, "I ain't saying that 'cuz their lesbians just," he rolled his eyes, "they never seemed to like me much, even when I was a little kid. But anyway, uh," his brow furrowed, "my _point_ is, these two biddies," he corrected himself, "the _ladies_ , they kind of made themselves a little mark with the town by doing a lot of charity work. And that's gone a long way towards the churchy types getting past the gay thing, 'cuz the ladies look in on the elderly folks and do like one of those daily meals on wheels programs for people who can't get out, and uh," Daryl swallowed as his attention fell to the ground, "well, sometimes they take in ladies from around the county." His eyes snapped back up to Carol's.

"Ladies in your type of situation."

Daryl's last sentence came out very slowly, and very deliberately. And suddenly realizing where it was he'd been heading all along with these seemingly random, rambling, bits of information about his hometown and the people in it, Carol's eyes widened.

"Oh."

That was that was the only word that came out of her mouth . . . even though there were about a million thoughts now flying around in her head.

And apparently Daryl didn't take that one word response, to be a ringing endorsement of the idea he'd just proposed. Because while she was still trying to clear her head and untie her tongue, she saw him shrug and look away.

"Yeah, I know." His voice fell as he shoved his hand into his pocket, "it's the middle of nowhere, and you wouldn't have the job trainin' you were looking forward to, or any of that special counseling for you and Soph . . ."

"Yes," Carol cut in.

Daryl's eyes immediately snapped back to hers.

"Yes, what?" He asked with a confused furrow of his brow. And she began to nod furiously.

"Yes, I want to meet the hippy dippy biddies," she immediately clarified right before her eyes began to water, "that's where I want to go. I don't want to stay here Daryl. I am _terrified,"_ her hands started to clench into fists, "at the idea of staying in this city. I mean yeah, yesterday I was excited about all that stuff you mentioned, but," her voice started to catch, "we hadn't seen all of the things we have since. It's scary here. And it seems to be getting scarier every time we turn around." Her teeth sunk into her lip, as one of her fists came up to press against her stomach. "And all day I've just had this weight sitting here, like I was making a terrible mistake staying in Atlanta."

"Well, why didn't ya _say_ somethin'?" Daryl whispered back with equal parts frustration and surprise.

She shrugged.

"Because I didn't think there was any point in it. I mean," her lips twisted in a sad smile, "where else were we going to go? I didn't know about the biddies."

"Yeah," the word came out on a soft sigh as Daryl reached over to stroke his thumb along Carol's cheek "I didn't mention them yesterday mornin', because well, it woulda just kind of come off as a bit creepy I think. You know," he shrugged and his hand fell away, "offering to take you home with me and all. I mean," he rolled his eyes, "that's not what it would have been, or _is_ , but I think it just would've come out weird, no matter how I tried to mention it as a last option if nothing else worked out with the other shelters. And then once you got the good beds," he put his hands up, "there didn't seem any point to mentioning it at all. But," his lips pursed then as he gave her a firm headshake, "ever since what happened at the funeral home, I've just been feeling sick about leaving you guys here with all this shit going on. And that sick feelin' has just been getting worse and worse all day, because well," he took a breath as his eyes shifted over her shoulder for a moment . . . watching the people at the other end of the parking lot, "the closer it came to time to drop you off," he bit his lip, "the harder it was hitting me that I wasn't gonna be around to keep an eye on ya anymore."

That was the thing, all day he'd been trying to to tell himself that the plans Carol had made for her and Sophia to go to this shelter, were the best option for them. Because they needed more to start over a new life, than just fresh air and a whole hell of a lotta trees. But coming up into the neighborhood where he was really going to have to drop them off, it just hit like a punch to the gut. He was making a terrible mistake.

One that he was terrified he wouldn't be able to take back.

So even if Carol had thought he was crazy, he'd figured it couldn't hurt to tell her about Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta, just to see what she thought. And now that she'd agreed to go, even if she and Sophia only stayed with them for a few months, just enough time to let whatever this was happening in the city, calm itself, at least they'd be safe out in the country.

And them bein' safe . . . his eyes darted back over to Carol's . . . was all that mattered.

Hearing Daryl's words, while seeing that look on his face, made Carol's heart twist with something that she couldn't quite identify . . . but it was something that she knew she hadn't felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it caused a fresh batch of tears to floor her eyes. Though when she saw the worried look on Daryl's face, right before he asked, half on a panic, "what's wrong _now_?!" she couldn't help but laugh.

"Nothing," she sniffled back with a watery smile, "nothing's wrong. I was just wondering if I could give you a hug."

Yeah, she was breaking her no grownup hugs rule . . . but that's because the rule didn't matter anymore.

Because they didn't have to separate.

But she could see though, the splash of surprise that crossed Daryl's features at her request. He quickly covered over that though, with a half shrug.

"I suppose," his eyes crinkled even if his voice was gruff, "if you insist upon it, a hug would be all right."

"I do," she whispered back with a twitch of her lips as she stepped forward, "I do insist upon it."

So she slipped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her to his chest . . . and he held her so tight. And that hug was everything she'd thought it would be. His arms were warm and strong, and she felt so safe there wrapped up in them. Safe enough that she closed her eyes, and burrowed her face against the hollow of his throat.

After a few seconds of breathing him in, she let out a soft sigh.

"This is a really good hug," she murmured against his skin.

And she felt him huff as he ran his hand down her back.

"What?" He whispered in her ear, "did ya think I didn't know how?"

She started to laugh.

"It's not that," she leaned back to give him a little smile, "it just made me really happy, was what I meant."

"Well," his expression softened, "I'm glad for that."

Then one of his hands slid down from her back, to land on her arm.

"Now," he gave her a light pat while giving a quick look up to the sky, "we should get on the road. It's gonna be a couple hours, and we wanna get there while it's still early so you can settle in."

"And you're sure the ladies will take us, right?" She cut in worriedly, "it won't be a problem?"

"No," he shook his head, "it definitely won't be a problem. I know that at least a dozen women, with and without kids, have passed through that place over the last ten years. I think the last one was about six months ago. She was a local girl with a baby. But she ended up going to live with an aunt up north, so they don't have nobody staying with 'em now. And uh," he bit down on his cheek, "their place isn't too far from my place, so and I can check in on ya pretty regularly," he shrugged, "if that's something you'd be okay with me doing."

Seeing how nervous he was at making that proposal, Carol gave him a soft smile.

"Of course it's okay," she whispered back with a press of her fingers to his chest, "you already knew I wanted to keep seeing you," her eyes crinkled, "we're just moving the timetable up some." Then, feeling her own spark of nerves rise up, she bit her lip.

"Can I still call you whenever though?" She asked worriedly, "even if we aren't going to be a million miles away anymore."

"Yeah," his lip quirked up, "you can still call as much as you want."

A small grin spread across her face.

"Okay then."

"Yeah," he nodded, "okay then. So," he turned and put his hand on the door . . . the metal was starting to feel hot, "I guess we're done here. We'll grab some drive thru once we get outta the city, and I'll call ahead to the biddies then too just to," he tipped his head, "well, you know, so they'll know you're coming."

"All right," she nodded, "sounds like a plan. Oh wait," her eyes widened, "I should call the shelter and tell them not to hold the beds for us. They can give them to somebody else."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded as he reached out to tap the cell phone outlined in Carol's front pants pocket, "that's one of the things that this is good for," he gave a somber nod, "making calls on the go."

Seeing Carol shoot him a smirk at that, he slid his hand along her hip, to rest on her waist . . . that wiped the smile away.

"You sure about this, right?" He asked seriously, "I mean I know there ain't a lot of options going right now, but I just wanna make sure you understand before we go," his lips pressed together, "it's real different up there. It's not gonna be like what you're used to."

"What I'm _used_ to," she answered softly, "is living with a man who made my life, and my daughter's life, a daily hell. So I'm sure anything we'll be trading off in the short term, will be things we can live without for awhile. Besides," she brought her hand up to place onto his, "I think we'll be getting some pretty good stuff in return, right?"

"Yeah," his expression softened, "I think so. Though," his eyes briefly flickered over her shoulder to once more check out the parking lot, before they snapped back to hers again, "I'm probably getting the better end of that deal."

He finished the last sentence with a little smile . . . one that she returned in kind.

"I disagree," she answered with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, "but we can discuss it later. For now though," she took a breath, "I'm ready when you are."

"All right then," Daryl's lip quirked up.

"Let's go."

* * *

 _A/N 2: They didn't split up :) Yay! This was the twist that my brain made me write out weeks ago, the whole section of him pulling over and making his awkward rambling about the biddies and her like, "oh god, yes, please! Let's go!" This way they get to stay together in a more realistic way (because most communities would have either a church or whatever that would do that), by her being taken in by these ladies, and them now being able to still see each other. Because really, I couldn't just send them home with Daryl, to HIS house, after 48 hours. That would have been SUPER weird :) "Why don't you and your abused daughter come live with me and my abusive, racist, woman hating, drug dealing brother, INDEFINITELY! It'll be totally fine!" The world has not yet devolved to where that's option anyone would propose. And now we're getting to the whole point of the story that I've been trying to get to . . . Daryl's hometown! We'll get to explore it, and the people in it, through Carol, Sophia and Daryl. But have no fear, the messiness will soon catch up with them there too! I have already sketched out a few chapters both pre and post, the mess arriving :)_

 _And Blackburn is my own made up hometown for him. It just sounded like a place that would be on the edge of a forest. The Chattahoochee Forest is real though, right up in Northern Georgia, so I have to imagine for canon, that would have been where Daryl and Merle would have done most of their hunting and tracking. And though this is an AU, wherever possible IN AUs, I try to incorporate existing canon so I thought that was a good factoid to roll in there :) And fortunately for the Dixon pre ZA world, there isn't much in canon to worry about contradicting. So we're keeping mom died in a fire, dad was an abusive SOB, and Daryl and Merle as adults kept themselves afloat doing odd jobs up and down the legal spectrum. Beyond that, I'm mostly building my own world here._

 _The idea of people getting sick and dying in hotels comes from my favorite book, A Brief History of the Dead. If you've never heard it, it is so highly recommended. It's one of those you either love it or are kind of 'eh' about it, but I love it to death. And it is all about death. Or really, similar to TWD, an extinction event wiping out most of the human race with a virus. Except this story is primarily told from the afterlife. And one of the main characters tells of how she died in a hotel. She was there for work and everybody started getting sick. So much of that book has stuck with me over the years, it's beautifully written, but that idea of being away on a business trip when the world ends, bothers me so much. It's such a sad, empty death. So anyway, as soon as I'd put them up in the nicer hotel I'd had the plan for Daryl to see one of these middle of the night runs with somebody dying across the hall. And again, they don't have enough information to be putting all these pieces together yet. Everything seems like unconnected, isolated, issues. And I do think it is quite plausible that the official 'expert' opinion on a new wave of violence like this would be weather associated. Because they've done that before, just on massive shooting sprees. Not 'spree shootings' (we get those regardless of the weather), but drivebys and what not in the cities. They always try to dismiss them as 'rising temperatures make tempers rise' and it's always a cop out answer rather than really digging into the issues that are triggering whatever the current wave is. So this would be that to the nth degree._

 _Otherwise I am excited and will hopefully catch up again here in the next week or so. Thanks!_


	11. Other People's Houses

**Author's Note** : Hi all! Since last we met, I have had an ear infection, a sinus infection and two wonky wisdom teeth pulled, which were likely the cause of the ear/sinus issues. My mouth is still ACHING as I type. The reason for my sharing of this melodrama? So you would know that these would be contributing causes for our 'lag time,' on the update :)

The other lag, was that this one was getting as long as the previous chapter. I literally had to chop it in half, and then started cleaning that up, and then I STILL ended up with half a manifesto. I know you guys enjoy the long chapters, but I'm not even kidding when I say they are killing me! :)

Anyway! Picking up now in northern Georgia. And if you'd like to see the biddies' house, there is a picture of 'it' (the one I picked for them anyway) on my Tumblr (sienna27) for this chapter.

* * *

 **Other People's Houses**

Carol shifted around in her seat to try and see what was down the side road that they'd just driven passed.

Since they'd gotten off the Interstate a good thirty minutes ago, it had been mostly two lanes of faded asphalt, and a whole lot of green. Green trees, green bushes, and open fields of long green grass. The fields were her favorite thing so far, because they were always dotted over with lush patches of colorful wild flowers. It was beautiful country here, it really was, but Daryl had been right to give her the warning too. Because this place was very different from what she was used to.

She was just hoping it wouldn't take too long to adjust.

"Did that road lead to another town?" She asked him then, while shifting back around in her seat. And she saw those blue eyes shift up to the rearview mirror, before Daryl tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel.

"Naw," he gave a slow shake of his head, "that one goes down to a lake. Pretty good trout fishing but," his nose wrinkled as he shot her a quick look, "some weird people live down in the woods past there, so Merle and I stopped going a few years back."

Carol's gaze shifted to look into the side mirror.

"What kind of weird?" she asked softly, because now she was just picturing some scenes from Deliverance.

And they were kind of freaking her out.

"Intense weird," Daryl's jaw twitched, "even for these parts." He shook his head, "it's a little bunch of unrelated families, call themselves those um, doomsday preppers," he gave a derisive snort, "but somehow they got their memos mixed up, cuz they've been living like the world already ended, for the last ten years. That was around the time when they moved into some abandoned hunting cabins off about a mile in from the road. The first year, we ran into those folks a few times around the lake. And they didn't know much about anything at the time, so the men used to ask about lures and poles and snares all that. Merle of course didn't have any patience for their questions, but I kinda felt sorry for 'em because they just didn't seem suited for that kind of living. They were from uh," he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again as he tried to think back, "New Jersey I think. According to the couple guys I talked to, they had a," he mimed a one handed air quote, "'religious awakenin'' or some such nonsense. Either way they said they sold just about everything they owned, and used all the money to buy supplies and those patches of land where the old cabins were." He shot her a look, "I mean they were clearly weirdos, I knew that from day one, but," he shrugged as his eyes drifted back to the road, "they were actually nice weirdos to start. And they weren't so dumb they didn't know they were flounderin' there. Plus," his lips pursed, "they had probably a half dozen little ones, like single digit ages mostly, so I didn't mind teachin' the parents a few things at first. You know, things to help them feed themselves. Like how to snare a squirrel or set a fishing line, but," his brow darkened, "after that first year, they weren't so nice. And the year after that, they just started gettin' stranger. And they just got worse from there, year after year. Part of it is," he shook his head, "you just can't live like that, not associatin' with nobody ever, and still expect to stay any kind of normal. Honestly, I think after year one, Merle and I were the only people they saw because everybody else had gotten scared off. Because the problem was, their stockpiles they showed up with included a real scary amount of guns. Again," he shot Carol another look, "even for _these_ parts, scary. It was the point," his eyes drifted back to the windshield as he slowly shook his head, "where they had five filthy men walking a perimeter around the lake dressed like Rambo with the bandoliers of bullets crisscrossing their chests, that Merle and I decided we'd pulled our limit from that lake, and we haven't been back since. That was about five years ago now."

Feeling a little prickle go down her spine, Carol's jaw clenched.

"That's scary how people can just go crazy like that," she said softly, before adding with a roll of her eyes. "I mean we've obviously seen people go MUCH crazier this weekend, but," her lips pursed, "that's still creepy to know there are whole families living out there in the woods, like it's end of days."

She shot Daryl another look.

"How far are they from Blackburn?"

"Well," his jaw twisted, "I'd say at least thirty miles. Because you gotta drive a good ten miles off this road where the turn was, to get down to where they are. That's why that lake was such good fishin', hardly anybody else ever wanted to go that far in case you run across a bear or a cougar or something. But Merle and I always just brought our bows and rifles so weren't worried. But like I said, those folks ain't been out of there for nothing in almost a decade, so," he shot her a quick half smile, "you don't need to worry about them popping up in town unless the world ends."

Carol's lip quirked up.

"Well, that's comforting at least. So," she tried to shift the conversation back to a lighter topic, "if they're thirty miles out, that means just about another twenty minutes or so for us?"

"Yeah," Daryl nodded, "about that. Probably a little less, but," he let out a faint huff, "definitely no more."

So Carol sat back against the seat again, to once more start looking out the side window.

At first there was still nothing but the trees and the fields. It didn't take too long though before all the nature began to get a bit more chopped up. There were the occasional lone mailboxes, and winding, rock covered driveways, cutting back into the forest. That's when she figured they were finally coming up on the outskirts of town.

A point confirmed by Daryl, as he made a gesture towards the front windshield.

"And here now," he shot her a quick look, "we're coming into Blackburn."

Even as he was saying the words, Carol could feel the truck decelerating, so she had to figure if there was a change in the speed limit (even if she hadn't seen it posted), then they were actually within the city limits.

And really no sooner had that thought come to her, than she saw the official sign: _"Welcome to Blackburn, GA, est., 1842._ " It was etched out in thick gold letters, on a large rectangular background, painted in a black matte. It was actually kind of elegant.

Though the colors had faded a bit from the sun.

And it was only a minute or so after that, when Carol saw the first house out the passenger side window.

It was a small, white, two story, set back on a tree covered lot. The house itself was cute, and from the outside seemed to be well maintained . . . no peeling paint or crooked shutters anyway . . . but it did also look very "country." And no, she wasn't quite sure what that meant even in her own mind. Except that it made her feel strange. She bit her lip.

Out of place, maybe.

Either way, when she saw the next house coming up, this one in a sky blue, it gave her the same feeling of disconnect from the more modern, (city adjacent) world, that she was used to. It was a sensation she tried to push off though. Because focusing in on the differences in living here compared to back home, were only going to make her feel more unsettled.

And that was when Carol realized, she'd be better off thinking of them coming to this area as more like being on an extended "vacation." The ' _nice place to visit, but you don't have to live there forever_ ,' principle. Maybe she could adjust to rural life a little faster that way. As long as she remembered it was all just temporary.

Like summer camp.

It helped a lot to know that technically speaking . . . she shot a quick glance over to Daryl . . . at least they weren't actually trapped up there. That was a point Daryl had made clear to her a few hours ago when they'd stopped for lunch at a little diner off in the middle of nowhere. After they'd eaten, and he'd helped Sophia back into the truck, he'd pulled her aside just like he had back in Five Points. And he told her then, that if she and Sophia weren't happy in Blackburn, if the way of life was just too different for them, to just let him know. That he'd take them somewhere else.

Anywhere she wanted to go.

And that offer, it had really touched her, even though the reality was . . . they had nowhere else to go. Because as long as those attacks were going on, Carol wasn't going to feel safe settling in anywhere where there were likely to be large crowds. Which meant for the time being, all, 'congested' environments, were to be avoided. So she and Sophia were, for the foreseeable future, residents of the back country.

And that was a truth Carol never would have seen coming.

Not that she thought of it as a bad thing. Because that made it sound like she was ungrateful to be there. And she most definitely was not. Daryl had shown them unbelievable kindness and generosity, in offering to bring them to this safe place. One where there would be people to provide them with food and shelter.

And then of course they still had him too.

Next to the food and shelter, getting to keep Daryl in their lives . . . _REALLY_ in their lives, not just as a voice on the phone . . . was the most important thing. Because having him close by was going to be good for both her and Sophia. Carol's eyes crinkled.

Though obviously for very different reasons.

It was just one more thing to be grateful for though. And really, Carol knew that simply being grateful for what they had, and not thinking about what they didn't, was the true Christian way of approaching this situation. Yes, there were going to be challenges in getting used to this new day to day life. But a negative mindset, on even the smallest issue, would do her no good here. Because negativity can, and will, so quickly turn 'challenges,' into 'difficulties.' And she'd been living a life of _'difficulties,'_ for over a decade now.

That was long enough.

So as she saw the next country house approaching, this one with an old lady out in the yard, hanging her sheets on the line, Carol turned to Daryl.

"This place is really sweet," she said to him with a little smile, "thank you for bringing us here."

And she saw him shoot her a quick glance at that, just before he looked back out to the road again. And though he didn't say anything, it was clear from the way his lip quirked up . . . her comment had made him happy.

And that's what she'd wanted to do.

To let him know that she was, _truly_ , appreciative of what he'd done for them. And that she was going to do her best to fit in here. And she was going to do that not only for his sake . . . she reached over to pat Sophia's arm . . . but for her daughter's. Because they would take out of this place, what they put into it. And she wanted her daughter to walk away with her best new little self.

Somebody stronger than she was before.

So with that new mental, sort of 'Oprah'esque,' mindset . . . but hey, there was a reason Oprah was still so damn popular . . . Carol settled back in her seat, and let out a faint breath. Her eyes drifted back out the side window.

 _Might as well enjoy the view._

/*/*/*/*/

"Well, this is it."

Daryl made that quiet pronouncement while slowly pulling to a stop by the curb in front of the big yellow house on Lindy Street. After he'd turned off the engine, his gaze shifted across the front seat, to watch the two Pelletier ladies staring out Carol's side window.

They were holding hands.

And though he could have driven them straight up the long driveway . . . the biddies had built their little compound on two plots of land side by side . . . he wanted to give Carol and Sophia a little extra time to get accustomed to the place, before they had to actually walk in the front door. Because this was gonna be their new home.

For awhile at least.

Though when a few seconds had passed, and neither of them had said anything, he finally gave 'em a poke.

"Got any thoughts?"

His question was mostly directed at Carol, so Daryl was a little surprised when Sophia was the first one to answer him.

"I like the trees."

The words came out on one of her little girl whispers. And feeling a new spot of warmth for this child who had entered his world so recently, his lip quirked up.

"Yeah," he answered back with a nod, while taking in the rows of fruit laden trees lining the edges of the property, "those are peach trees. The ladies put 'em in when they first bought the place back in like sixty-eight. They gotta have close to thirty of 'em by now, running from front to back. But the ladies grow a lot of their own food to help cut into the costs for the meals program they run, so," he leaned over to point, "you got the peaches starting here out in front, blackberry shrubs running along both sides of the house, and then out back, they got a huge vegetable garden, an herb garden, and a henhouse."

"A henhouse?" Carol repeated back while throwing Daryl a surprised glance. "They have chickens? I wouldn't think," her eyes drifted out the front windshield and down the street, "well I guess I wouldn't have thought this was a chicken zoned area."

Unlike the houses they'd passed on the way into town, which she could definitely see keeping some farm animals, this neighborhood actually (to her pleasant surprise) looked pretty residential. Yes, the plots of land were much bigger than compared to where she'd been living with Ed . . . each house here seemed to be sitting on probably at least a half acre or so . . . but the houses themselves were quite modern.

Maybe the product of a building boom back in the sixties.

The kind of building boom that had maybe three or four cookie cutter sets of building plans, and that was it. That seemed to have been what had happened around here.

And that was comforting.

Because cookie cutter houses, were something that Carol knew. That was the bread and butter of the suburban neighborhood. And also just like the suburban neighborhoods, these yards were mostly covered with too tall grass, flowers and then of course the children's playthings. Like slides and swing sets.

The occasional bouncy ball.

Really, except for the size for the yards (and the peach trees dotting so many of the properties), this little neighborhood looked a lot like hers back home did.

And nobody back home had any chickens.

Daryl looked across the front of the truck, to see Carol shifting around in her seat, trying to see up and down the street. She seemed a little more excited now.

But clearly still nervous too.

It was kind of funny though, that the idea of chickens had perked her up so much. That wasn't something he'd even thought about mentioning before they'd arrived, because probably every third family round here kept chickens. So it was just something he was used to. He bit his lip.

But it was more thing Carol would have to adjust to.

Yeah, it was a little thing, but he knew what a big change this whole trip north was for her. So rather than teasing her about the chickens . . . or warning her she might be running across the occasional pair of billy goats around town as well . . . he just clarified Blackburn's livestock rules, in the simplest way possible.

"Ain't no laws against keeping chickens in town," he explained quietly, "even in the middle of a family neighborhood like this one. As long as you keep the yard clean, and the birds penned, nobody'll raise a fuss. You just can't keep roosters 'cuz they're noisy SOBs, and well," he shook his head, "everybody hates roosters. They're a pain in the butt, and ain't good for nothing but making more chickens."

For a moment there was just quiet in the truck cab, and then Sophia asked softly.

"Do you think they'll let me see the chickens?"

And Daryl's eyes crinkled.

"Yeah, darlin'" he turned to give her a little smile, "you'll definitely get to see the chickens. You'll probably get to feed 'em too."

His eyes shifted over then, to lock onto Carol's.

"There will be some chores probably, to help with the upkeep of the place." His nose wrinkled, "I guess I shoulda mentioned that before, but I kinda forgot about the layout 'til we got here."

"Oh, no," Carol quickly shook her head, "that's no problem. I figured we'd need to earn our keep somehow. I'm actually kind of glad some of the chores will be the outside kind."

Even if it was rolling into the hottest time of the year, it would still be good to be able to get some fresh air every day. Because that was another thing she wasn't 'allowed' to get much of back home. With Ed's demands on exactly what chores he wanted done, or redone, or redone for the fiftieth time over, she'd spent most of her days cooped up inside the house, scrubbing until her fingers bled, _inside_ her work gloves. And truly, cleaning up a henhouse couldn't be anything compared to cleaning up after Ed in the bathroom.

The man was a pig.

Actually if they only had some pigs here . . . she huffed humorlessly to herself . . . she might've been able to finally get a direct comparison.

"Well that's good you're up for some outside chores," Daryl nodded slowly, "because I imagine that's probably an area the ladies need help. A garden of the size they have, is a lot of work, what with the pulling weeds, plucking off beetles, and chasing off critters. Plus they gotta make the meals for the old and sickly folks." He nodded, "honestly, I think the days'll probably go by pretty fast."

If he'd been more 'charitable minded' himself, Daryl would say that kind of day didn't sound half bad. Not that he was much for pulling weeds or cooking anything besides the occasional pot of chili, but he didn't mind helping out people who weren't in a position to help themselves. And he preferred working outdoors to anything else. So maybe if he had a woman around to keep him company, the kind of woman who was okay dealing with weeds and cooking regular meals that is, he could handle the beetles and the critters and the dropping off of the food. Of course he'd also need a patch of land that flowed right into the forest to actually be happy, but yeah . . . his jaw twisted as he threw half a glance towards Carol . . . maybe when he was old like the biddies, then he could live a life like that.

It'd be a hell of a lot better than rotting away with Merle for the rest of his days, that was for sure.

Realizing then he'd gotten a little sidetracked with picturing a future that was very much completely a fool's dream at best, Daryl blinked to refocus on Carol's mouth.

He'd just realized she'd been saying something.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he cut in, "my mind wandered a bit," his eyebrow inched up, "what was that you were sayin'?"

But she just shook her head.

"Nothing important," she murmured at the same time she looked back out to the big yellow house, "so I guess we should go knock, huh?"

Though Carol tried to keep the anxiety she was feeling out of her voice, it definitely seeped through. But she _was_ nervous. Yes, she was trying to be positive and make the best of everything, but it was still a weird situation. She and her daughter were moving into the home of _complete_ strangers. There was no way for that not to be weird.

And a little scary.

No matter how nice the place looked from the outside.

It was also clear from the look that Daryl was giving her, that he had heard the worry there in her tone. And then he reached over behind Sophia's head, to squeeze her shoulder.

"I'll stay until you're okay with me going," he murmured.

She bit her lip.

"You think they'll let you stay overnight?" She whispered back, half joking . . . half not. Either way, his lips twitched.

"No," his eyes crinkled, "unfortunately I do not think I would be welcome as an overnight guest here. But," he pulled his arm back, "I can certainly invite myself in for a spell."

So with that, he turned around and pushed the lock for the doors. And as he started to get out on the street side, Carol puffed out a deep breath, and turned to get out onto the sidewalk.

After she had the door open and had hopped down on the pavement . . . it was a bit of a jump . . . she picked up her bag from the floor mat, and slipped it up onto her shoulder. Then she reached back inside the truck to put her hand out to her daughter.

"Come on Sophia," her lips curled up in a faint, tight smile, "adventure time again."

It took a second where her girl just sat there staring past her off at the house, but then finally she nodded to herself before giving Carol her own tentative smile.

"At least the chickens should be fun."

"That's right," Carol's eyes crinkled, "silver lining baby. If nothing else you should have fun with the chickens. But," she continued speaking, trying to inject some positivity into their thoughts as Sophia began to slide out, "I think it'll be okay. I mean, we'll have our own room, that's for sure. We might not have had that in a city shelter. And also the house here is so big," she threw a look over her shoulder, just as she felt Daryl's hand on her back, "that we should be able to have a little more privacy just generally. Plus," she tipped her head towards the man behind her, "don't forget that we have Daryl here. You know he's going to come visit."

"Absolutely I'm gonna come visit," Daryl piped up with a pat to Carol's side, "you ladies'll be sick of me before you know it."

"Well," Carol threw him an amused little side eye, "I don't think that's likely but I was thinking," she looked back at Sophia with a faint quirk of her lip, "maybe if we're good and ask really nicely, Daryl might take us fishing some day."

And once more Daryl immediately cut in, this time with an, "oh yeah," and a nod as he reached past Carol to snag Sophia's backpack up from the floor.

"We're definitely gonna go fishing," he continued as he straightened up again, "first chance we can."

That was one thing he was really looking forward to doing, showing the ladies how beautiful the country was around here. Because if he was lucky, they might grow to love it like he did. And then maybe he might get _really_ lucky, and they'd decide to stay in the area.

A man could hope.

And as he was helping Sophia get out of the truck, she suddenly looked up at him.

He had just put her down on the sidewalk.

"Do you have any pink lures, Daryl?" She asked, with that wide eyed little look of hers. And remembering the conversation he'd overheard her and mama having in Kmart, about fishing with Carol's daddy when Sophia was three, he felt a little dig of regret that his answer was no.

Even if it was just a temporary no.

"Sorry, darlin'," he answered her with a faint wrinkle in his nose, "I don't have any pink ones. _But_ ," he reached down to cup her cheek, "I'll definitely make sure to pick some up this week."

She gave him a big smile then, and Daryl had to bite the side of his lip from giving her back one of equal size.

That kind of happiness was a little too contagious.

So before he embarrassed himself, he let his hand fall away and he went over to get busy gathering up the oversized duffel bag from out of the truck bed. He'd tied in down in there before they'd left the mechanic's shop back in Atlanta.

Once that was free though, he tossed the strap over his shoulder, and put his hand out to take Carol's.

She was just standing there, staring at him.

"It's gonna be okay," he muttered as their fingers slipped together. And she quickly nodded.

"Right," she cleared throat, "of course it is."

And so while still keepin' half an eye on Carol . . . with the amount of tension in her body it felt like he was taking her to the electric chair . . . Daryl walked her and Sophia the five steps over from the side of his truck, to the front walk of the biddies' house.

Then, with Sophia shuffling a half step ahead . . . she was still mesmerized by all the peach trees . . . the three of them started walking up the long, windy, cobblestone path that led to the stairs, that led to the yellow and white wraparound porch.

Now for his part, Daryl wasn't generally focused much on house stuff being "nice." He just wanted it to be "functional." That said though, he did always did like that porch. It circled all the way around on both sides of the house, with a white hanging swing on one of the side corners, and a half dozen mismatched rocking chairs scattered all along the front. And that seating was all kind of dressed up, with these fancy, pink and purple and red, flower plants, spilling over, and hanging down from the rafters.

The whole thing just looked real pretty.

It was the kind of porch he associated with having a family . . . he bit his lip . . . maybe that's why he liked it so much. He'd never had one of those.

Not a real one anyway.

Carol was working on her _'in and out to stay calm_ ' breaths, as they slowly walked up the path. And she was thinking her exercises were doing pretty well in keeping her anxiety under control, when suddenly, about halfway to the porch, she saw that the front door was starting to open. And feeling a wave of genuine fear rise up . . . her breathing exercises were for CRAP right then(!) . . . she gave Daryl's fingers a hard, (mostly involuntary), squeeze.

But he just squeezed right back.

It was clear what he was telling her . . . he was right there, and he wasn't leaving. And she needed that assurance more than anything, because seeing the biddies (ladies) stepping through the doorway, gave her another jolt.

Because they were a lot more physically imposing than she'd thought they'd be.

When Daryl had said they were sixties hippy dippy types, she'd pictured skinny, spacey looking, stoners in tie dyed clothes with peace signs embroidered into them.

But these ladies were nothing like that.

For one thing, they were both very tall. At least as tall as Daryl, and Daryl's height . . . which was about average for a man . . . was kind of imposing to see on a woman.

Especially when there were two of them, already towering down from the height of the porch.

They were both also just really . . . built. Like, brick house, built. Full breasts, full hips, full thighs. And it was obvious that they did a lot of physical labor, because you didn't get bodies like theirs just sitting around on your butt all day.

You _earned_ bodies like that!

It was funny too, but each time Daryl had brought up the biddies, Carol had been picturing them both as white women . . . it must have been that image of stringy haired flower children in her head . . . but actually one of the biddies was black. She had smooth dark skin, with her hair swinging around in these really cool, long, skinny, black and grey braids that were wound all through with little beads.

They were all hanging loose around her face, and down to her shoulders.

It was a retro hippy look, right down to the faded blue jeans, white peasant blouse and tiny wire rimmed glasses on her face. Overall though, the woman was undeniably quite pretty, even at sixty something. And Carol was thinking she had to have been drop dead gorgeous at twenty something. A fact which had probably also helped ingratiate her to the townspeople, back when she'd moved here as one of their first openly gay citizens.

Because there was a lot more tolerance for the activities of a beautiful face, than a plain one.

And really, for someone who had probably spent half of her life working out in the Georgia sun, that woman still had some amazing skin.

That was unfortunately not a quality her partner shared.

It was hard to say if she had once been pretty too, because the other woman (Carol still didn't know who was who) had a lot of lines and sun spots on her face and arms. She actually looked much more like what Carol had been picturing for an aging hippy lady, with that sort of soft, tanned, doughy skin. She also had the one long thick, mostly dark grey, braid, twisted around from the back, and hanging over her shoulder.

It was long enough to hang down onto her breasts.

And she was dressed in cargo pants and a green and black "Nader/LaDuke 2000" t-shirt, that Carol was quite sure, was an original from back in the actual two thousand election. The shirt colors had faded though, from all the washing they must have gone through over the years.

But yeah . . . Carol nodded to herself . . . this one definitely looked to be the aging, 'anti-establishment' type, through and through.

It was just then that they were approaching the bottom of the wide, wooden front steps . . . close enough now to be considered within 'conversational distance' . . . so Carol put her free hand out to stop Sophia from going any further.

And once she had her daughter pulled back in front of her and Daryl, that's when he finally spoke.

"Good afternoon ladies," he tipped his head first to one, and then the other of the older women on the porch, "nice to see you both looking so well today."

And then, to Carol's shock (and dismay) the white lady responded to his very polite greeting with a visible eye roll, and a notable, extremely rude, snort. One which made it QUITE clear that it definitely wasn't Daryl's imagination, in thinking he wasn't popular around this place.

She just couldn't believe how _blatant_ they were in their dislike of him!

Though . . . her brow twitched . . . maybe it wasn't actually "they" who disliked him, just ,"her." Because it was only the white woman who had been so rude, and the black woman was now giving Daryl what could almost be described as an apologetic smile.

And that was AFTER she'd shot a quick, hard, look over to her girlfriend. So apparently she didn't approve of her manners towards Daryl either. Good.

That was at least one point in _her_ favor.

And then the black woman took a step closer to the top of the stairs.

"Yes Daryl," she answered him quietly, though pleasantly, "it's very nice to see you too. And these," her gaze shifted over to Carol and Sophia as her expression brightened a bit more, "are your friends?"

The question wasn't really a question, clearly they were the friends, but still, Daryl answered her like it was a piece of knowledge beyond them.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered sharply while tipping his head to the left, "this is Carol," he reached out to put his hand on Sophia's shoulder, "and her daughter, Sophia."

And Carol, knowing that it was unfortunately time for her to speak up as well, immediately gave both of the women a little smile . . . though she was of the mindset that only one of them really deserved it.

"It's very nice to meet you both," she said with a tip of her head, "and thank you so much for allowing us to come here. Especially on such short notice."

"Of course," the black woman responded with a gentle smile, "it's our pleasure to have you. And in case you don't know yet, I," she patted her chest, "am Miss Evelyn, and this," she reached over to put her hand on the other woman's neck, "is Miss Roberta. So," her hand fell back to her side, "now that introductions have been made," she made a gesture for them to come up the stairs, "if you young ladies would like to come in and put down your bags, we can get better acquainted."

But then, apparently sensing some resistance from Carol to that plan for them to go in alone . . . Daryl could feel her fingernails now digging straight into his palm . . . Miss Evelyn immediately added.

"And of course if you'd like Daryl, you can come in for a bit as well."

"Thank you ma'am," he gave a quick nod at the same time he felt the pressure on his palm let up, "I appreciate that. Because I did promise the ladies that I'd stick around until they were settled."

"Yes," Carol cut in, "please, if you don't mind, Miss Evelyn. We would um," she pulled Sophia a little closer to her chest, "well, we would prefer if Daryl could stay for a short while."

Or for the duration really of their time there . . . but she didn't say that.

Though she really, REALLY, wanted to!

"And that's no problem at all, Carol," Miss Evelyn said with a smile and a shake of her head, "really, we've been doing this a long time so I have learned that whatever process makes _you_ ladies the most comfortable, is the best way to do this."

It was a response that surprised Daryl a little. Not that he felt Miss Evelyn wouldn't obviously have experience in this area . . . the 'how to make an abused woman and child feel comfortable,' area . . . but just that he would've expected there to be some negativity on display about him _personally_ , going into the house with them.

But then he realized he'd just been looking in the wrong direction.

Because even though Miss Evelyn was bein' all nice and amiable, now that he'd turned his head, he could see that Miss Roberta was shootin' daggers at it. But of course it woulda been foolish to expect more from her. That woman had _genuinely_ hated his guts, since he was a little boy and Momma would take him out for walks through the neighborhood. And Merle was never with them for those walks up by the biddies' house, because by then he was twelve or thirteen and off playing ball or fishing with his buddies. So it was definitely JUST him, little (fairly innocent) Daryl Dixon who could barely tie his own shoes, that Miss Roberta had taken such a personal dislike to, three plus decades ago. And who the hell knows now what coulda happened back then. Maybe he'd tromped through her rose bushes, or pulled her cat's tail or something and he just didn't remember it.

Though if it was one of those stupid kid things, the woman should win a fucking award for holding a damn grudge!

And Daryl was gettin' himself good and distracted with his righteousness, when suddenly he saw Miss Evelyn giving her ladyfriend a nudge and one of those chastisin' looks that Carol had given him when he'd been mean to that weak little man at the hotel. And he knew that both of those looks meant the same thing.

Disappointment.

And as the biddies both turned then to go back inside the house . . . with Miss Evelyn leaning over, whispering something in Miss Roberta's ear . . . that's when Daryl realized this was the second time since he'd arrived, that woman had stepped in on his behalf. It was like she was tryin' to make Miss Roberta be a little less mean to him.

It was odd.

Not that Miss Evelyn had ever been so openly hostile towards him as Miss Roberta was . . . that would not have been physically possible . . . but as far as his recollection went, she hadn't really been particularly friendly either. More just "civil" probably, if he had to pick a term. Simple hellos and goodbyes had always been exchanged without any open animosity though.

And that was something.

But as he and the Pelletier ladies started up the front stairs . . . with Sophia now having shifted over to clutch onto his other hand like a baby crawfish . . . Daryl began to think back to the last few times he'd run into the biddies around town. Now generally, he probably saw them about a half dozen times a year . . . that was about average for neighborly run-ins when you lived in a town the size of a cow patch . . . and he realized that Miss Evelyn actually _had_ been much nicer to him lately. Not as nice as today, but she'd been almost "warm," for maybe the last three or four meetings. Since the holidays.

Or thereabouts.

And so as Carol was stepping through the doorway now just a step ahead of him, he was tryin' to think if something special had happened last fall that would've made Miss Evelyn start thinking of him more like a "person," and less like a "Dixon." Because for the most part, with most people, being a _Dixon_ was the real problem in this town. Not with all the folks, but . . . his eyes snapped over to Miss Roberta still glaring at him . . . with enough of 'em that he'd always known where he stood from one to the other.

And that was almost always on the outside.

Not today though. No, today, he was walking right through the front door of a woman who he was _positive_ woulda been thrilled to death, to smack him over the head with a frying pan.

If only he gave her the chance.

And so when he stepped over the threshold, and onto that braided round gold carpet they had thrown down in front of the door, he SO wanted to shoot that woman a smirk. A, " _ha, you old battle axe! Suck it! I'm in the HOUSE!,_ " type smirk.

But he behaved himself.

Mostly because he wasn't gonna do anything to fuck this up for Carol and Sophia. But also he did it just to prove something to himself.

That he wasn't the man Miss Roberta thought he was.

So he remained on his best behavior through the little mini-tour of the downstairs that Miss Evelyn was giving to Carol and Sophia. Well, mostly to Carol. Miss Evelyn had taken her arm to pull her a few steps ahead, and Sophia, she just stayed glued there to his side, moving lockstep with him down the hall. He wasn't sure why she seemed so much more nervous being inside the house than outside, but she clearly was. And he couldn't even blame it on Miss Roberta's attitude, 'cuz she'd given that little girl a peaches and cream smile, the second she walked through the door. And of course Sophia, being the sweet thing _she_ was, had given her a tiny, polite smile, in response. But then she'd just pressed herself against his side.

It was almost like she was afraid Miss Roberta would pull her away, like Miss Evelyn had her mother.

And who knew? Maybe she would have, if she'd been given the chance. But with Sophia doing what she did instead, she had, of course, earned him another nasty look from that woman. But he didn't give a shit about that. All he cared about were Carol and Sophia. And Carol was doing okay enough making chitchat with Miss Evelyn, so it was just Sophia who he needed to worry about right then. And he was thinkin', as they walked along those shiny wooden floors with Miss Evelyn pointing out the bathroom and the living room . . . and the kitchen, slash pantry, off down the other hall, that maybe it was just being inside somebody else's house that was making that little girl get so anxious. Because that was always a bit weird.

Other people's houses, that is.

You had new rules. New ways of doin' things. It was especially bad when you were little like Sophia was, 'cuz you had no power over anything.

And that was scary as hell.

It was about that point where Daryl saw they'd reached the far side of the eastern corner of the house. There were a lot of quilts on the walls back there. Not hangin' loose, but folded up into thick rectangles and squares and put inside all these big black wooden window boxes. It was kind of an interestin' way of decorating.

But it was better than Elvis on Velvet, that was for sure.

It was just then that Miss Evelyn stopped them all walkin'. And then she was pointing through an open door in the middle of the hall, and saying that was the room Carol and Sophia were gonna be sharing. And as they walked up to stand in the doorway, Daryl could see how Sophia's head twisted around on her neck, sorta like a turtle, trying to see everything at once inside that room, before she actually walked in there. And he knew exactly what she was feelin', because he'd felt that way before. The first time he'd gone into the joint and got walked up to his cell, he'd done that same turtle thing with his neck. Just standing in the doorway, trying to see it all from the outside. Because once you got on the inside it was different. It was too late.

You were trapped.

And that was the last thing he wanted that girl to feel in this place. He wanted her to feel safe here, not like she was in a tiny prison. She'd already served more than enough time under that bastard daddy of hers.

It would be good if she could at least find some peace here in Blackburn.

And so when Carol finally stepped through the doorway, sliding her bag down from her shoulder, he already had his hand rubbing down the side of Sophia's arm.

She had the back of her head pressed against his chest, and he knew . . . she didn't wanna go in.

"Come on darlin'" he leaned down to murmur in her ear, "it's okay. It looks nice in here."

And it did look nice. It really did. The room was big and full of sunlight, with the walls painted a pale yellow and two big, pine edged, double beds, filling up each side of the room. Both of the beds had a quilt on them just like the ones in the hall, but he knew that was Miss Roberta's thing. She made them, and sold them, at the annual fair they held each fall in the town common. And she did do good work, he'd give her that. Her sewing was real professional, even though you could tell they were handmade.

If that made sense.

Whatever, even if it didn't make sense, the quilts they'd put in here were well done, and they were also the matchy, matchy kind. Not identical but they were both the same shade of yellow as the walls, but with tiny blue and green roses sewn in on the material. They looked real pretty.

And it was delicate work.

The furniture though, that wasn't delicate. They were big, chunky pieces. And again they'd went with the matchy matchy approach for decoratin'. Now, that _was_ something that coulda been real prison'like . . . everything for sure matched in there . . . but it wasn't. Because the biddies had gone out of their way to make it all look feminine. They'd painted everything a light green that lined up with the color of the roses on the quilts. And then, by his eye, it looked like they'd done that fake antique, 'stain and sandpaper' thing, to the wood, that people seemed to like so much these days. And he had to admit, it was kind of pretty with the rusty color coming through the green. They'd done it to the nightstands, and the two dressers, and the big bookcase that covered up a good quarter of one of the walls. That thing towered six shelves up, almost to the ceiling, and was just overflowing with books.

Probably more than he'd read in his lifetime.

Though he guessed that probably wasn't saying much. But either way, as he stood there in the middle of that room, with that nervous little person still cowering against him, he was thinkin' this would be a good place for her to stay. All those piles of books, the kind like you'd see in a library . . . she could learn something here.

The time wouldn't be wasted.

And when Carol turned and caught his eyes, he could tell that maybe she was thinkin' something real similar. Because she reached over and brushed her fingers along Sophia's cheek, before she turned back around to look at Miss Evelyn.

"It's a very nice room."

Carol's words came out in barely a whisper. It actually sounded like she was kinda choked up. And Daryl was thinkin' maybe it really was the books that were making her feel so emotional. Because he remembered her saying how Ed would never give her any money for them.

That he thought they were a waste.

And here they were now with just stacks of them loaded up on those shelves. Dozens and dozens of them. It probably woulda taken her another twenty years to squeeze off the money from her husband, to buy Sophia that many books. And he was wondering if that was the thought making her feel teary right now.

The worst part was . . . he didn't know if it was a good teary or a bad.

Not that that mattered all that much, he just wished he could take a step and put his arm around her shoulders. That would make her feel better either way.

He was sure of it.

But an action like that would do her no favors with this crowd. As far as the biddies were concerned, he was just, "a friend." And even if Miss Evelyn was being nice to him, it would probably be best for Carol if neither of them thought he was anything more than what he appeared to be.

Tainted by association and all.

So he made himself look away from her rubbing her eyes, to get busy with helping Sophia take off her little pink flowered backpack. Then with that backpack dangling from his hand, he asked her which bed she wanted to take. And he did that so she'd feel like she'd have a bit of control over her day.

It was one choice that girl could make all on her own.

And he could see her actually thinking about it for a second, like it was a real important decision, but then finally she pointed.

"That one," she whispered, "by the big window." Then she looked up at him. "I like to look at the birds."

His eyes crinkled.

"Well," he answered in a quiet tone, "that sounds like a good reason to take that bed then." He looked over at Carol, who he already knew was looking over at them.

"Okay with you, Mama?" He asked with a twitch of his eyebrow. And she immediately gave them both a soft smile . . . though he could see that faint sheen still reflected in her eyes.

"Of course."

The emotion was still there in her voice too, but he tried to ignore it for the simple reason that there still wasn't anything he could do about it. Not with Miss Evelyn in the room . . . eyeing him rather curiously, he'd noticed . . . and Miss Roberta standing right outside the door.

Fortunately he couldn't see the look on her face.

So he just walked over and placed Sophia's backpack on the carpet next to the bed she'd chosen.

The one by the window.

There was only the one window, but it was a good size, real wide, and it looked out directly onto the side yard where the blackberry bushes were. And then beyond the blackberries, Daryl could see a few more of the peach trees scattered. And after that . . . between the trees . . . the neighbor's house.

They had their blinds down.

"All right, ladies," he said, while sliding the oversized duffel down from where it was swinging on his back, "did you need me to do anything before I go?"

Though he would've liked to stay longer, he'd already been in the house probably close to eight or nine minutes. And he didn't wanna wear out his unexpected welcome from Miss Evelyn. Because he still wanted to be able to come back.

On the regular if she'd allow it.

And when he turned around, he could see Carol biting her lip while she slowly shook her head.

"Um," she looked around the room as she answered softly, "nothing I can think of."

It was clear she didn't want him to leave, but couldn't come up with a reason for him to stay either. But then Miss Evelyn piped up out of the blue with, "actually Daryl, there is one thing."

And his eyes immediately shot over to hers.

"Yes, ma'am," his eyebrow quirked up, "what did you need?"

She pointed to the window.

"Can you check the window? We'd been washing the glass the other day and had everything pulled open, but after we closed it all up again, the top and bottom frames didn't seem to be meshed together quite as tightly as they were before." Her brow furrowed, "if you put your hand up near the lock, you can feel a faint bit of mugginess that kind of hovers there at the seam. I think we're losing the air conditioning through there."

Before Daryl could move more than a step back towards the window . . . the request was a simple one, which shouldn't take more than a minute . . . Miss Roberta tried to cut in from the doorway with, "I said I'd check it _tomorrow,_ Evelyn," so he froze, waiting to see which way the wind was blowing.

But it was very much still blowing in Miss Evelyn's direction, because she just answered Miss Roberta very calmly.

"Daryl's right here Roberta, and he's stronger than both of us. So it's silly to not have him reset it now if he can. And if he can't get the wood to align," she continued on, while he began to lean over the bed . . . he'd heard enough to know she was definitely the decider here, "then we'll know it's probably the weather stripping, and we'll just pick up some tomorrow."

As she was finishing that last sentence, Daryl was undoing the latch on the window. Then he slid the top of the frame down, and the bottom of the frame up, and as the blast of muggy air hit his face, he started to run his fingers along the inner ledge.

"Yeah, you were right, Miss Evelyn," he murmured as his index finger made contact with something that shouldn't have been in the track, "something was throwing it a little off kilter."

He pulled back and turned around . . . now with a very large, very dead, cicada pinched between two of his fingertips. The sucker was at least a three incher, with a two inch wing span.

Not the biggest he'd seen, but still a damn good size.

"This guy was jammin' up the works." He stated flatly even while his eyes started to bounce around the room, looking towards the items on the floor, "you got a trash in here?"

And to the joint exclamations of, "eww!" and "cool!" from Carol and Sophia respectively, Miss Evelyn hurried forward.

"Oh yes," she murmured while scooping up a small white basket from over next to the bookcase. And when she spun around and held it out in front of him, she added with a scrunch of her nose. "He is huge, isn't he?"

"Yes ma'am," he grunted, while dropping the bug into the liner, "lucky he didn't crack the frame."

She snorted a bit at that, before giving him a funny look . . . and then a little smile.

"Would you like to stay for lemonade and ice box cookies, Daryl?" She asked, "I was just about to offer the ladies some."

"Uh," he stammered a bit as his eyes flashed over to Carol's surprised ones . . . and then back to Miss Evelyn's questioning ones, "yes," he nodded, "that would be very nice, thank you, Miss Evelyn."

All right, now things were just getting fuckin' WEIRD! He was gettin' invited to stay for cookies and _lemonade_?! That was a God damn Twilight Zone episode right there! Like he was gonna wake up tomorrow and everybody was gonna be a pig person or something!

And as he turned back around to get the window closed up again, he could hear a very loud throat clearing coming from the direction of the door.

He couldn't help but smirk to himself.

Because it was clear that once again, Miss Roberta was NOT on board with the plans for him to stay. That time, he really thought she might say something flat out, but by the time he was done closing up the window, and had turned back around, it was still quiet over there by the door.

Then he saw that woman was just glaring at him. And he was getting a little tired of that, so he raised his eyebrow.

"Is there some particular issue you wished to discuss, Miss Roberta?" He asked, as politely as was possible for him to do so, "because we can do that if you'd like."

Somehow she didn't seem to be prepared for him to actually call her out on the shit. Because he could see her jaw drop open . . . right before it snapped shut again.

The she turned on the heel of her sneaker . . . and disappeared from the doorway.

He could hear her squeaking off down the hall.

After she left, there was a moment of faintly awkward silence, but Miss Evelyn just smoothed it over with an, "oh well," and a shrug, that was just so funny in context . . . his presence had LITERALLY driven her ladyfriend away, and all she had to say was "oh well". . . that Daryl had to turn his head to hide the smirk.

He could feel it pullin' at the corner of his mouth.

Looking away made it even worse though, because he ended up catching Carol's eyes . . . and she just straight up burst out laughing.

"Oh," she slapped up her hand over her mouth, while still giggling, "oh Miss Evelyn, I'm sorry! I just uh," she cleared her throat, trying to smother the last of her laughter, "nerves I guess."

"No, no," Miss Evelyn gave her a little smile, "it's fine dear. She is being rather silly at the moment. But if she doesn't want to join us for cookies, that's okay," she started walking towards the door, "more for us."

And she stepped out into the hallway, calling back over her shoulder.

"Come on children," she waved her hand over her shoulder, "this way."

Daryl looked over to Carol, and just shrugged . . . because he had nothing to say. This day had most definitely gotten beyond him. Miss Roberta stomping off like a child, Miss Evelyn making him stay for a snack, this was not stuff he coulda planned for. So he just put his arm up and tipped his head towards the door.

"After you, ladies."

And Carol gave him a little smile as she took Sophia's hand. Then she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"I think we're going to like it here."

/*/*/*/*/

Daryl spent another thirty minutes in the house eating about a half dozen oatmeal cookies (they were damn good) and drinking down two full glasses of lemonade. And all the while he just sat there at that big oversized farm table in the kitchen, listening to Carol and Miss Evelyn talking about things of no consequence. The weather. Baked goods. The right time of year to plant different kinds of vegetables. All stuff really, that he knew Miss Evelyn was just bringing up to ease Carol into having simple conversations with her. That way she'd feel better later, after Sophia went to bed, when it came time to talking about the harder stuff.

The stuff about Ed.

It was smart, Daryl definitely had to give her that. It was clear Miss Evelyn at least, had learned more than a few things over the years she'd been doing this. And when it finally came time for him to push back his chair, he actually wanted to tell her that she was doing a good job. But even if he did it in private, he didn't think she'd appreciate it.

Not from him.

Yeah, she was bein' real hospitable, but he wasn't gonna overstep. So instead he just said his thanks for the snack as he reached over to pat Sophia on the head. But realizing then that he was leavin', she immediately dropped her last half a cookie, shoved back her chair, and jumped up.

She threw her arms around his chest.

So he wrapped one arm around her back, as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "be good for your mama, and I'll see you in a couple days, darlin'." Then he patted her back and slowly untangled himself.

Because he knew she was just about to start crying.

But Miss Evelyn immediately stepped in.

"Sophia, how about we go see the chickens?"

The chickens were something that had been discussed during cookie time, how excited Sophia was to see the henhouse. So that offer was actually enough to get her attention. And as she sniffled and blinked, Daryl walked her over to Miss Evelyn, who reached out to take her hand. Then he watched as she led that little girl out the back door, telling her she could give the chickens their dinner tonight. They were having cornmeal.

That was the last thing he heard before the door slammed shut.

And then he was left alone with Carol.

Though she had also stood up, she hadn't said anything yet, and it didn't look like she about to now. She just had her head down as she stared at the floor. So he reached over and took her hand.

"Come on sweetheart," he murmured with a little tug, "you can walk me out."

So with her still not talking, or looking at him, he led her out of the kitchen, down the main hall, through the living room, and back to the front door. It wasn't until they stepped out on the porch, that Daryl realized where Miss Roberta had gone off to.

She was out there rocking up a storm.

"Night, ma'am," he said with a nod, as they walked by, not expecting to get any response.

He didn't.

And so he and Carol just continued on down to the front walk. They'd gone about three quarters of the way to the street, before he finally let go of her hand.

"All right, well," he scratched the back of his neck, "guess this is me leaving." His eyes bounced up and over Carol's shoulder, to the watchful glare of Miss Roberta.

"God, does that woman hate me," he muttered.

Feeling her eyes start to water, Carol shot a quick glance over her shoulder and up to the porch, before shaking her head.

"I'll set her straight." She whispered back as she brought her arms up, hugging them to her chest, "I'll tell them both what you did for us. How good you've been."

"Now, now," he huffed and looked away, trying to avoid seeing the tears forming in Carol's eyes, "no need for all that." He looked back at her with a smirk. "Got a reputation to uphold, you know?"

She let out a little chuckle.

"Yeah," she half laughed, half sniffled, "well," one of her arms fell, and she reached over to take his fingers again, "I'm sure your reputation will survive one or two nice stories."

For a second the two of them just stood there, staring at each other, with Carol trying to blink back her tears before they spilled over.

Then Daryl surprised her by suddenly pulling his hand away.

"You know what," he was already nodding to himself as he started to fumble in his back pocket for the free pen he'd gotten from the last hotel . . . it had been 'complimentary' on checkout, "you should have my home address just in case, well," he let out a sigh, thinking about all the shit they'd seen in the city, "just in case."

"Oh, yes," she sniffed and nodded, "please. I'd like that, but ah," her brow scrunched as she looked over at him, "we don't have anything to write on."

The words had no sooner left her lips, than Daryl was reaching out to take her hand again. That time she felt, not his fingers press down into her palm, but the tip of the ballpoint pen.

It tickled.

"This'll work fine," he murmured while scribbling along, inking her white flesh blue, "and I told ya the town's pretty small so if you had to find me you could, no problem. It's a maybe fifteen, twenty minute walk. Just uh," he stopped for a second, turning to point down to the left.

"Straight down this road, all the way to the end, take a left, go to the end again, take a right, and then just keep going 'til the trees start gettin' taller and thicker. We're the last street of the north side of the town proper, our place backs up right against the woods." He leaned down to finish writing, "we've got neighbors like here," he finished softly, "so we're not like the people on the windin' roads, all cut off. But you'll still see the difference in the neighborhood when you get there. And it's a two story white house, number seventeen."

He straightened up then, slowly, popping the ink cartridge back into the dispenser as he did so.

"All right," he whispered while tucking the pen back into his pocket, "I think that's that for what you need to know."

For a second they just looked at each other, and then Carol sniffled as she let her watery eyes drift off to the side.

"Well," she out a soft sigh, her gaze locked onto one of the bigger peach trees lining the front edge of the yard, "I guess I should go find Miss Evelyn and see what they need me to do to earn our keep here." Then she sniffed and looked back up at him hopefully.

"You'll be around to visit this week, right?"

"Yeah sweetheart," his eyes crinkled, "I'll be around. I promise. Got some stuff to do tomorrow though, probably go visit Merle and that'll take a good chunk of the day, but," he nodded, "I'll try and stop by on Tuesday, see how you two are doin'." Then he gave her a look. "But even if I get held up, you don't hesitate to call. Don't go thinkin' it'd be a bother," he shook his head, "because I already told ya, it wouldn't be."

A sad smile touched her lips then.

"Right," she whispered, "I remember."

And Daryl was about to say his goodbye then, but seeing how Carol was biting her lip as she turned to look over her shoulder at that big yellow house, he bit the word back. And he wanted to give her a hug because, a) she was almost kinda his woman now and hugging was allowable, and b) just 'cuz she seriously looked like she needed a damn hug more than anything. But he could see Miss Roberta was eyein' him from her rocker like he was the Ripper or somethin', so he wasn't about to get all 'personal' in front of that woman.

So instead he just put his hand out, and tipped his head.

"C'mere for a minute," he murmured with a gesture towards the trees.

And as she had every other time but the very first, when he offered Carol his hand . . . she immediately took it.

So he walked her over to one of the peach trees nearer to the driveway edge of the front lawn, and around to the other side, beneath the branches. It wasn't a closed door, but at least there they had a little privacy from both those pryin' eyes up at the house, and anybody who might be walking down the street.

When they stopped moving, Carol leaned back against the bark on the tree.

So he leaned in and brushed his thumb along her collarbone.

"I know it can be a little scary having to move in with new people," he whispered, "but I promise you Carol," his hand settled on her shoulder, "I would never have suggested this place if I didn't know they were good folks. I mean," he tipped his head, "yeah that's more obvious with Miss Evelyn, but Miss Roberta should warm up after I'm gone. She might not like me, but," his mouth twisted in a wry smile, "how could she not like you?"

Carol bit her lip.

"If you're going to be sweet to me," she murmured over the lump in her throat, "then I'm gonna need a hug before you go."

His brow furrowed a bit.

"You sure," he shot a quick look over her shoulder, up to the woman he could still make out through the branches . . . which meant she could still see them too, "because it's probably," his eyes shot back to Carol's, "not gonna endear ya to the new landlord on the porch. Don't forget," the corner of his lip pulled in a small smirk, "I am a no good Dixon."

"Please," Carol winced, "don't say that. Even as a joke," she continued on a whisper while leaning forward to put her head on his chest, "it bothers me to hear it."

At first Daryl had nothing to say then. She just felt his arms come up, right before one of them slipped around her waist and the other crossed over her back.

He pulled her to his chest.

And once again, she felt completely safe folded up in that embrace. It was such a strange thing to feel safe, because it had been so long since she had been, she'd forgotten what it was like.

What a warm feeling it was.

It was like the tension in her body sort of drained away. And she was just left . . . with him. That hard body pressed against hers, and the faint thrum of his heartbeat in her ear. There was an intimacy to a hug (again, the grownup kind) that she had missed so much. Because this was Daryl's personal space. His little piece of the planet.

And he was sharing it with her.

And then she felt him tip his head down to press his lips to her ear.

"You are a wonder," is what he whispered, right before he buried his face against her neck.

One of the tears slipped down her cheek. And then he just held her like that. Like she was something precious to him. And she was thinking, if he could already make her feel this special . . . this _important_. . . after only a few days, then he was going to own her heart completely, within the month.

Probably a lot sooner.

It was a thought that should have terrified her. If it was any other man, literally, probably any other man on the planet, she'd be scared to death right now that she was on the verge of repeating a terrible cycle. That Daryl would suddenly show his true colors, and she'd realize that he was just another Ed.

But Daryl wasn't an Ed.

He wasn't like any other man she'd ever met, let alone been involved with. And whatever else she'd learned of him so far, she already knew that if she did fall for him all the way, that she would always be safe with him.

Her and Sophia both.

As long as Daryl was around, he wouldn't let anyone hurt them again. They wouldn't have to be afraid of Ed suddenly showing up and trying to drag them home . . . because Daryl would take care of it.

And that would be the end of Ed.

That was a comforting thought, one which made her hold onto her new man just a little bit tighter. Because holding him, it actually made her feel stronger. It was like, for the first time since her father died, she had someone really in her corner.

And that went a long way.

Tonight especially, when she was feeling so scared about staying here without him. He was going to be leaving in a minute too, she knew that . . . but she really just wished he could stick around a little longer. But . . . she took a slow breath, breathing him in . . . if wishes were horses, after all these years with Ed, she'd have a stable full of purebreds by now. So as she felt Daryl huff out a warm breath against her skin, she braced herself for him to begin to pull away.

And then he did.

His hands slid down, and he slowly straightened up.

"I gotta go now," he murmured as his eyes locked onto hers and his fingertips pressed into her hips, "but I'm not gonna be far. So if you need me," he gave her a hard look, "you call. It's literally only a five minute drive to get back."

"Okay," she bit her lip when she saw him start to take a step back . . . then his hands fell from her waist, "thanks."

"All right sweetheart," his lips pressed together as he gestured towards the porch, "you go on back in, because you know I'm not leaving you out here in the trees."

"Right," she let out a slow breath and a faint smile while reaching out to touch his cheek, "I'll talk to you soon."

That was the last thing she said before her hand fell, and she made herself turn away. Then she started walking across the grass. Because she knew she could drag that goodbye out for an hour, and still not want him to go.

That was the same reason she refused to look back over her shoulder.

And she was actually distracted enough thinking about him leaving, that she'd gone most of the way up the front walk, before she realized that Miss Roberta was staring down at her from the porch.

Carol's steps slowed then as she took a shallow breath, because she was now feeling a new level of stress filling her. It came from the fear that this woman was about to say something about her and Daryl. Most particularly, that she was going to cut into him, and say how terrible he was, and then Carol was going to be put into an awful position. Either listen to this man who had been so good to her . . . and that she was growing to care so much about . . . be put down, or risk her and Sophia getting kicked out of the house, by speaking up on his behalf.

 _If_ she could speak up for him, that is.

That was a real fear too. After all, if she'd spent all these years unable to even stand up for herself . . . or her daughter . . . how was she going to defend Daryl to this woman that she was so dependent on now? What if Miss Roberta started in on him being a no good Dixon, and Carol ended up just standing there and taking it?

Like she had all those years with Ed.

Strangely enough, it was making that analogy in her mind . . . that she was never going to be any better than that pitiful woman she'd been back when she was living with that horrible man . . . which actually set Carol's spine. Because she wasn't that woman anymore. That woman was the one who should've left the first time Ed smacked her across the face.

 _She,_ was a coward.

And Carol had admittedly, and pathetically, been that woman for too many years. But she'd started to become more than her, the day she began to make her plans for escape. And then she finally put those plans into place. She'd run away. She'd gotten her daughter, and she'd gotten them both out of that hell. So she wasn't the same browbeaten loser anymore. She did have courage in her. Not a lot, but . . . she slowly started up the front steps . . . maybe just enough. And that was all she needed for now.

Just enough to get by.

So when she reached the porch, Carol made herself look Miss Roberta dead in the eyes. Because she didn't want that lady to think she was afraid of her.

She was done being a mouse.

Unfortunately though, she still wasn't a lion either. Because when she saw the judgment there in those pale brown eyes, her stomach twisted. It was one thing to project confidence.

It was another thing to actually feel it.

And what she was feeling right then, was still fear. Because she knew that woman was about to speak all of those words that Carol didn't want to hear.

And she just wasn't up for that yet.

So she tried to keep moving. Tried to just pull open that door, and slip back inside the house. To get back down to her daughter, and Miss Evelyn. She could go see the chickens.

Throw down some of the feed.

And there was nothing Carol wanted more at that moment, than to just RUN straight down that hallway, and flee out into the backyard to feed those chickens.

But she only got in three hurried steps, before she heard Miss Roberta behind her at the door.

"That whole family's trash, you know."

The words made Carol freeze, even though she knew that she should just ignore them and keep going. But hearing that woman call Daryl trash, even when she was FULLY expecting her to take a shot at him . . . it still made her feel sick. Because that was such a _terrible_ thing to say about anyone!

Especially about him!

For a moment though, she still didn't know what to do. How to stand up and so "no, that's not right. You can't talk about him that way." And that indecision brought tears to her eyes. It just felt like the universe was testing her.

And she was failing miserably.

But when Carol slowly turned around to see that Miss Roberta had her jaw set, and her arms crossed at her chest, she realized the truth of the situation was . . . that woman was just _daring_ her to say something back.

Carol looked away.

Then she made herself remember how she'd felt out in the yard when she was wrapped up in Daryl's arms. And she thought of all those things that he'd given her then, warmth, strength . . . safety. So was she really going to just walk away now? And if she did, how was she ever going to look him in the face again?

It was that thought . . . the pure _SHAME_ of it . . . that finally bolstered her courage. Because if she didn't speak up for him, she didn't deserve the things he'd given her.

She wouldn't deserve him at all.

So she took a deep breath, and she looked back to this woman who had so much power over her, and her future.

And she began to speak.

"I know this is your house Miss Roberta," Carol's voice was hard and tight, "and I respect that, but you don't speak about Daryl like that to me. And I'll thank you not to say anything like that in front of my daughter either. Because he's been wonderful to her, and she thinks the world of him," her voice started to thicken, "and I will not have you hurt her with those words. And if what I'm saying here offends you, and you want us to go," she swallowed, "well, then I'd just appreciate it if you could please give us a couple days to make other arrangements. So now if you'll excuse me," she let out a slow breath, "I'm going to go help Miss Evelyn out in the yard."

And with that, before Miss Roberta could do anything more than open her mouth, Carol turned on her heel, and walked away.

And she went fast.

Because she was about to throw up. Actually she just barely made it to the bathroom before she lost those two oatmeal cookies and the half glass of lemonade she'd just eaten.

And God damn if that lemonade didn't BURN like hell on the way back up!

But after she'd flushed the toilet, and began cleaning herself up, she started to feel kind of good. A little bit proud even. And that wasn't an emotion she had a lot of recent experience with, but next to leaving Ed, that spiel she'd just given, was probably the biggest thing she'd done in her life. Because she'd stood up not only for Daryl, but for her daughter and herself too.

She hadn't been a mouse.

Of course now that the moment was done, the fear began to creep back. Because Miss Roberta really and truly could put them out of the house. So then where were they going to go?

She leaned over the sink to put her head in her hands.

 _Shit._

* * *

 _A/N 2: So there is an actual "reason" that Miss Roberta hates Daryl so much. I know she comes off as just being a bitch right now, but there is a background that will be revealed in relatively short order. And it will also come out why it is that Miss Evelyn had been thawing on him for the last six months. It's always a line when you're writing original characters in trying to make them 'real' but still likeable/relatable. And it's especially challenging when you have to make somebody relatable who is being just awful to somebody we like :) So we worked in how Miss Evelyn touches Miss Roberta's neck to demonstrate affection and shows disappointment when she's being unkind, to sort of soften her up. She's not a terrible person, she's just got this issue with Daryl's 'existence' that is affecting her judgment with Carol too (because clearly she shouldn't be acting that way with a battered woman) which will eventually make some sense. But 'the biddies' (and I need to keep using the term even though we like Miss Evelyn, because Daryl calls Sophia and Carol "the ladies") are going to have a crucial role in how the storyline plays out in Blackburn, so their characters did need to be fleshed out more fully. That's what we have here :)_

 _Also, without a little drama, and no walkers, this would have been kind of a slow chapter ;)_

 _And the preppers in the woods out there waiting for Judgment Day! Yes, that might get interesting too. I wasn't planning them for Blackburn, but when they were driving by that road, and Carol wanted to know what was down there, that was who I saw living by the lake._

 _Next time around, among other things, we should be catching up with Merle again :)_

 _Thanks everyone!_


	12. There I Am, There I Always Am

**Author's Note** : Hey kids! I'm off the Vicodin so I have higher hopes for less typos in this one, than the last :)

And I discovered this weekend that there are Caryl Fanfiction Awards (it's the second annual!), and I am going to oh so shamelessly plug them here right now. Ha, ha! :) But yes, if you aren't aware already, they're run through Tumblr under the account "TheCarylDaily" (thank you kind folk(s) who are running it) and the link for it is right at the top of their main page under "Events."

Otherwise just a couple things up front.

First, Merle arrives! For a bit ;) But he will be around long enough to go spouting off some classy, not so PC, Merle'isms, so, fair warning, or as Todd Flanders would say with his hands on his head, "ow my freaking ears!" :)

And something from the last chapter, if you aren't familiar with U.S. southern'isms, it is fairly common in many areas to use the first name with "Miss/Mrs/Mr" as a respectful way to address an elder or just somebody you're being polite, yet friendly, towards. I'm a "yankee" by birth myself, but I've lived down here so long I forgot it's something that's kind of unique to the region. And I mention it now because it comes up here again and some of you might _literally_ be from Outer Mongolia and thinking, 'what is up with this weird first name title obsession thing, sienna?' That's what's up with it :)

Anyway, curtain up! We're at the Dixon house. And once again, I did put up a picture of the house I picked on my Tumblr (sienna27), with the chapter post. This was the closest I could get for you guys as to what's in my mind. And that includes the satellite dish because I don't think you'd get a lot of cable options in the backwoods. You should picture a few more trees/shade in the yard though. "Forest adjacent," and all.

Lastly, there is also a picture up of who I've 'cast' for Miss Evelyn (Angela Bassett) and Miss Roberta (Cherry Jones). I should have done that last time, but again, "Vicodin" :)

* * *

 **There I Am, There I Always Am**

It was a little before six when Daryl finally pulled into his driveway. Though it had only been three days since he'd left home, it felt like it'd been weeks. Of course a shitload of stressful as all get out crap had happened over the last seventy-two hours, so the feelin' was probably understandable.

Still, after he'd gotten out of the truck, he couldn't stop himself from pausing in the middle of that cracked driveway, to stop and look around for a second. To just remind himself, he was home.

And it was safe here.

Right now, the only thing that could pass as a 'crowd,' would be the Masons (Mrs. Loretta and Mr. Charles, respectively), across the street bickerin' over which color to paint their house. They had done that every year Daryl could remember. They stood on the front lawn, and debated if they should keep it green, or finally go with the baby blue that Mrs. Loretta had been pushing for as long as they'd been havin' this fight. Yeah, that house had been green for the entirety of Daryl's time livin' on the planet.

That was comforting in a way though.

How some things were always the same, and always would be the same. Though he did kinda feel bad that Mrs. Loretta was never gonna see that baby blue house.

'Cuz she really, REALLY wanted it!

It was just then the lady in question seemed to notice him lookin' over at them, because she suddenly raised her hand.

"Evenin' Daryl!" She called out, with her husky smoker's voice, ringing clear and loud across the narrow, tree lined, street. So he immediately raised his hand in turn.

"Evenin' Mrs. Loretta," his attention shifted over to her husband, "Mister Charles."

His voice came out much quieter than Mrs. Loretta's, but he knew the couple could hear him just fine, because they'd been having _this_ exchange for decades too. It was funny kinda, the dividin' line with the townsfolk, in terms of people who had known his family forever. They either kept their distance from him (and Merle) on the principle of their family being rotten to the core . . . Miss Roberta would be a perfect example of that way of thinkin' . . . or else they were like the Masons.

Perfectly neighborly.

Mrs. Loretta in particular had always been very kind to him. But she'd been friends with his momma back in the day, and she'd once told him (while he was helpin' her clean a dead possum out from under the house) that his momma had thought havin' him, was the best thing she'd done with her life.

At the time, Daryl hadn't really known what to say to that. The comment was clearly intended to be complimentary, but it still made him feel kind of funny. Because in his memories, his momma, though kind, had almost always been a sad person.

And a drunk.

Not every second of every day, but, on the whole . . . those were the pictures that pushed against him when he though back to their years together. So how did he reconcile this 'best thing she'd done with her life' comment, if she was still that sad drunk all the way to the end? Hell, what would she have been like if he _hadn't_ been born?

Could she have possibly been _worse_?

It was something he pondered from time to time . . . then he'd go have a beer and push the ponderin' away. Which is exactly what he needed to do right now.

It was time to get with gettin' on inside.

Though as he turned to continue on up to the house, he heard Mr. Charles yell across, "could use some help with the gutters, son! If you got the time!" So Daryl shot him another quick look and then a three fingered wave over his shoulder.

"I'll stop by this week!" He hollered back.

That was another thing the Masons were always good for . . . odd jobs. Especially now as they were gettin' older, both pushing seventy, and the mister had had a heart attack about five years back, so neither of them were up to doing all the physical stuff anymore, that it took to keep the house going. So these past few years, Daryl had been doing the gutters in the spring, raking the leaves in the fall (living on the edge of a forest everybody got a shitload of leaves), chopping the firewood for them every winter, and removing the occasional dead animal from under the house in the summers. They always paid him twenty bucks per full hour, 'cuz they knew he was always careful not to dawdle on another man's dime.

That was something a couple with a fixed income appreciated.

So whatever day he stopped by there, he'd have those gutters cleaned out before noon, and he'd make thirty bucks and get a free lunch and a glass of sweet tea out of it too. It was a good system that worked for both him, and them. Of course Merle couldn't understand why he didn't drag out the time on these things, so he could pad the bills. But that was why nobody who _knew_ Merle, ever asked Merle to do a job for 'em.

His reputation very much preceded him.

And as Daryl was stepping inside the front door, inside a house that'd had almost three full days with the air conditionin' off, Merle's reputation wasn't the only thing on his mind.

"Good Christ," Daryl muttered to himself as he pushed down a gag, "place smells like dirty balls."

But that was his JACKASS brother's room! After Daddy had died, Merle had taken over his den they'd built on after the fire, and made it into his own, downstairs, oversized bedroom. Basically he had the whole back half of the first floor of the house. Daryl didn't mind though, because that meant he didn't have to listen to his brother and his 'dates.' Those would be the drunk women he'd meet in a bar or a strip club, then bring home at two am, before kicking them out at eight the next mornin' when he woke up to take a piss. But given the God damn smell of the place right now, it was a wonder Merle ever got a woman in that room.

You'd think even a drunk stripper would have some standards.

But as he turned to shut and lock the front door again, Daryl remembered that when his brother was trollin' to get laid, he didn't trust straight alcohol. So he was usually flashing a bag of something white and powdery, as an extra incentive for those ladies to come home with him. Either way though . . . he started walking across the living room . . . there was no way in hell that Daryl was going to live in this Merle scented sty for the next one to three years.

That was just NOT happenin'.

So the first thing he did after dumping his bag on the couch, was go around the downstairs and turn on the window ACs they had in the kitchen, living room and Merle's bedroom. And on his way outta that bedroom, which honest to God made his eyes water just being in there, (three days cooking in the Georgia heat, the room smelled as bad as that hotel lobby had) Daryl scooped up all the dirty laundry off the floor, and those nasty ass sheets off the bed. Once he'd dragged all that shit down the hall to the 'laundry room' (really just a hole in the wall covered over by a couple of dusty levered doors) he dumped it all into the washer, threw in a crap load of detergent, slammed the cover down and pushed the start button.

He could the water was shootin' in as he walked away.

From there he went down to the kitchen, got a trash bag from under the sink and started cleanin' up the filth. Merle had just been picked up last Tuesday, and Daryl had been busy with a couple of jobs around town for most of the rest of the week, so even after his brother was outta the house, he hadn't gotten around to cleaning up anything yet. And honestly, when the AC had been on full time back then, the smells weren't so bad.

Or at least no worse than what he was used to.

But now he had a 'clean nose,' so what he was used to for the last twenty-four hours, was not gaggin' every time he turned around! Not to mention, seeing (and smelling) this place the way it was now, he was also thinking about Carol and Sophia. And how with them here in town, and Merle away, he might actually wanna invite them over for a pizza or something. But there was no way in God's green earth he'd ever let those ladies see this place the way it was. Again, it smelled like BALLS!

'Nuff said.

So with the steady hummin' of the air conditioners, and the swish swash of the washing machine for backdrop, he went around the downstairs and started collectin' empties and dumpin' out ashtrays. One fortunate thing there was, enough days had passed so there was nothing left in the way of hot embers from the cigarettes.

Which made it a hell of a lot easier for cleanup.

So he just threw everything into the Hefty bag with no worries about meltin' a hole through the plastic, and burnin' the place to the ground. Momma had already done that to the place once.

It'd just be embarrassing to the family name if he did it again.

But once all that shit was collected . . . plus a pile of pizza boxes and festerin' fast food (there were actually some maggots) he found spilling over from Merle's trash . . . Daryl went back out to the kitchen, through to the screen room, and out the rear door of the house to dump the bag in the outside trash container.

The one they kept locked up to keep the wildlife out.

By that point, he was definitely starting to work up a real sweat. But of course it was still muggy as hell outside, and the house still hadn't cooled down much either.

Certainly not enough to be running around it like an idiot.

But figurin' he'd done enough cleaning for one night . . . he'd just spray some Lysol in Merle's room, and that should do it for the last of the smells . . . when he came back inside, he started stripping off his clothes and whipping them towards the hallway.

He'd throw another load of laundry in once Merle's was done.

So once he was down to a bare ass, and not giving a single fuck that it was broad daylight and the shades were half open, he continued on back to the kitchen to grab himself a cold Bud outta the fridge. After he'd downed a good quarter of it, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and headed for the upstairs.

That's when he discovered that it was still hot as holy HELL up there. 'Course heat rises and all that, so being 'hot as holy hell,' probably wasn't such a shocker.

Either way, still suckling on his beer . . . which was tasting MIGHTY fuckin' fine after the weekend he'd had(!) . . . Daryl started walking around repeatin' the air conditioning ritual on the second floor. And once he had all that shit whirling (plus the box fan in his room), he headed towards the bathroom.

 _His_ bathroom.

Yeah, that was the one REAL good thing about Merle moving downstairs. When he had, he'd put in a shower down there too. They'd already had the 'half bath' as it's called . . . otherwise known as a toilet and sink . . . and Merle had the knowhow to do the plumbing. So one weekend he'd just knocked out a closet, and put in a shower. The new tile didn't match the old, but he didn't give a shit.

He'd got it on sale, and that was good enough.

It was good enough for Daryl too, 'cuz that meant they basically each had their own bathroom from then on. His was the original of course.

The one with Momma's old wallpaper.

Which was the room that Daryl was walking into now, so he could get a shower and rinse off all this sweat and grime. But even after he'd accomplished that small task, he stayed in the tub and turned the heat up on the water, to as hot as he could stand it. Then he gave himself another few minutes under the spray to get the kinks out of his back. Though he'd like to believe he'd just been a little out of practice in sleepin' on the floor, he knew the truth of it was . . . he was just gettin' old. Which was really what kind of made it, by his estimation, an honest to God miracle that he'd finally met a woman as good as Carol, someone he was pretty sure he could get real serious about, at his age.

Four plus decades in, to his given time on the planet.

If he was more of a deep thought guy, he might say that meeting her (and Sophia) now, was a reward for finally (mostly) cleaning up his act. But he didn't really believe that. Because he'd done enough stuff that he wasn't proud of himself, to know that he still had a long ways to go to get into the Big Man's good graces. So no, for now he was just gonna be grateful that he was maybe gettin' a chance here to find a little bit of happiness, for a little while, before he got too old to appreciate it. Because it'd been a _long_ time since he could say that he was happy. Mostly he'd just been gettin' by all these years. But he supposed that was probably the way with most people.

They just got by the best they could.

There were worse ways to live, he knew that first hand from when his daddy was still alive. But as he headed over to his room, still bare assed (though now it was a clean ass), rubbin' a towel on his head, Daryl knew even with that shitbag for a father, he'd still been better off than some. It was all about perspective.

That was something that came with the years.

And now that he was back in his room, before he did anything else, he threw the towel on the bed, and walked over to the blackout curtains. They were two long sheets of dark blue, hanging on one long rod, coverin' straight over both of his front facing windows. Both together, they'd cost $25.99 on special at Wal-Mart.

And they'd been one of his best monetary investments.

Because once they were pulled shut, and the all the sunlight was blocked, his room turned into a little cave. And he liked that. Because it was the one place in the world where he could always go to escape whatever the hell was drivin' him crazy, or stressin' him out.

Usually it was Merle on both counts.

But on that Sunday evening, when he walked away from the windows to go over and flop down onto the rumpled sheets, issues with his brother were the furthest thing from Daryl's mind. Actually the _first_ thought on his mind, was that he really needed to change _his_ sheets too. But that could wait a minute. Because they were just normal 'sleeping dirty,' not 'nasty dirty' like Merle's were.

Those things had actually crunched when he'd torn them up off the mattress.

Hell, he'd be lucky if they weren't gettin' the damn wash machine pregnant right now. But havin' random thoughts like that were the price of living with his brother. But yeah, anyway . . . Daryl rolled his eyes . . . screw him for the moment. For _now_ , as he was laying there staring up at the cobwebs on the ceiling, he was mostly just thinking about Carol and Sophia.

Wonderin' how things had gone for them after he'd left.

Part of him wanted to call Carol before bed just to see, but the rest of him was worried that he might be oversteppin'. Because he knew her history with Ed and him 'checking in' all day, every day, and he didn't want her thinkin' he was gonna be like that too.

Always in her business, even if she didn't want him there.

Course he was just worried about her havin' a bad night, and nobody to talk to about it. As they say though, all kinds of people in hell got there based on good intentions. So with his brain still conflicted on whether or not to make that call, he decided to just put off the deciding until later. Because right now it was barely six, and she wouldn't be going to bed for some hours anyway. And in the meantime, as he rolled over and dropped his feet to the floor, he knew there was one thing he could do to keep himself busy. He smacked a hand down on his rumbling stomach.

 _Get some damn dinner!_

/*/*/*/*/*

Daryl slowly brought the bottle of Bud down from his mouth, to settle on his thigh.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered in disbelief, as he watched the scene playing out on CNN. It was 'Breaking News' footage from Brazil. Some kind of shit goin' down at a soccer match. And he could tell right away, this was the exact kind of shit that he'd seen in Atlanta.

But on a much, MUCH, bigger scale.

Because right now there were hundreds and HUNDREDS of people, running and screaming, and tripping and falling, all trying to get outta that stadium. But still, all over the field, and even in the stands, there were already bodies that had fallen down everywhere. And after what he'd seen at the funeral home, even through the TV screen, Daryl could recognize what was happening to those people that had already hit the ground.

They were bein' devoured by the crazies.

But apparently if you didn't know what that _looked_ like, then you just didn't see it for what it was. Because fuck if the news wasn't trying to frame it like a NORMAL soccer riot was goin' on! But the more he was seein' here, the more insane he thought the news people had to be, to be BELIEVIN' that! Because a "normal" riot . . . such as those things were normal . . . people stayed and fought. That's what _made_ it a riot! But here, watchin' the live feed from the network that had been covering the match . . . it was clear that nobody was looking to stay. They were SCREAMING!

And they just wanted to be gone.

Of course if they were seeing what Daryl was expectin' they were seeing, he knew exactly how they felt. And for that reason, the simpatico of it, he did find himself watching more of that horror show than he really should have. All it was doing though was makin' him feel sick, and bringin' up real bad memories from the weekend. But it wasn't until the camera actually focused in on a little girl covered with blood, missing an arm . . . she was about Sophia's age, and she was screamin' . . . that his eyes snapped shut.

That was enough of that.

Really though, as he opened his eyes and made himself change the channel to ESPN . . . horrible choice, they were running the soccer feed too . . . he was reminded that was just the tip of the iceberg on the horrible news that night. And he knew that, 'cuz he'd been watching nothing BUT the news, straight through for the last few hours. Since his bacon and extra cheese pizza had arrived a little before seven, he'd been sittin' on the couch in his boxers, drinking beer and eating his dinner, while he flipped back and forth between CNN, and Sixty Minutes. He'd picked the second one, because he saw they were doin' a special, "in-depth," report on that flu outbreak. And come to find out, what he'd been considerin' a whisper in a holler nonsense . . . like the Bird Flu panic a few years back . . . was actually way more serious. Because turns out, while he hadn't been payin' any attention, the number of people dying from that sickness, worldwide, had been slowly inching up the last few weeks. The death rate now was at _thirty-two_ percent in some countries! Even here in the States, it was already at nineteen percent. And this lady doctor from the CDC, she said that even the nineteen percent was higher than the death rate for the big flu back during WWI.

The one that killed like fifty million people.

So yeah, all in all, that was some TERRIFYING shit to be learnin' on a Sunday evening! Especially after the weekend he'd had. But on that point, he really was just thankin' God he'd been able to get the ladies out of Atlanta, and up here to Blackburn. Because his hometown was so small and isolated, they didn't get hit often with stuff like that. You live in the city, everything spreads like a wildfire. But round here, they hadn't had a big outbreak of anything since the measles blew through town back in seventy-nine. Two girls in his school died, one younger, one older, and after that, the parents stopped bitchin' about the government making 'em get their kids the shots. So since then, they really hadn't had nothing town wide, that was worse than a few bad colds, and a stomach bug back in the nineties that still made his ass ache to think about. So the idea of that super flu really settling up camp here, in the middle of nowhere, seemed a long shot at best. Which was why he was tryin' to (mostly) put it out of his head. Because Lord knew there was enough other stuff to dwell on besides that.

For instance, the international news.

An hour of watching that on CNN, sweet Jesus, it was like seein' a news report straight up outta hell! And that was BEFORE, this new horrible thing now happening in the Sao Paolo soccer stadium. No, prior to that, he'd already learned that another plane had gone missing out of Hong Kong. Then a cruise ship had sunk offshore down in Mexico, and another one over in Greece. Multiple passenger trains had derailed in India, Pakistan, Russia _and_ China, and there'd been a massive fire in the Philippines. The fire had started yesterday in one of those garbage dump towns, and then by nightfall, it had spread to a neighboring city. At last report, over two hundred thousand people were missing or dead.

That was the 'light' estimate.

And that was all just the news they could cover in an hour . . . his jaw clenched . . . the biggest stuff. Just from those series of events though, they were speculatin' that almost a quarter of a million people had died today, of VERY unnatural causes. And again, that wasn't even countin' the flu deaths, which would (by the numbers) be at least another hundred thousand dead. It was like somehow just stayin' alive right now, was becoming a game of chance.

It was enough to make a man want to take up the bottle.

But fortunately for Daryl, Carol and Sophia coming into his life right when they did, was at least 'off-settin' the desire to drink himself into oblivion. Not that he wasn't still depressed as hell though. It was hard not to be.

Especially after what he saw was happenin' in New York.

That fire there that had started with the plane crash in Mid-Town, they'd lost control of it completely. More than forty city blocks had been completely destroyed so far.

Mainly because the firefighters actually _fightin'_ the fire . . . were disappearing left and right.

Yeah, that was some strange shit there. But apparently they'd get sent out to cover their vector, and then . . . whoosh . . . a whole engine company would be gone from the radio within a few hours. Daryl sorta had a funny, skin crawlin' kind of feeling about why that could be, but he was tryin' REAL hard to convince himself he was just getting paranoid. And he probably was.

At least a little bit anyway.

Because there was NO way there could be that many of those crazy motherfuckers in New York . . . surviving in a _disaster_ zone no less . . . that they could be wiping out whole engine companies. Especially one after another.

 _That_ was nuts.

Not that Daryl discounted the idea that this crazy cannibal sickness couldn't have spread up there . . . he'd seen enough from just the CNN crawl to know Atlanta wasn't the only U.S. city having a "spike" in violent crimes . . . but he just couldn't believe that was the cause of those disappearances. The firefighters had to just be gettin' disoriented or something in all the haze and smoke. That had to be it. He bit his lip.

It had to be.

Whatever it was though, barely a day since the crash, and the number of missing, presumed dead members of the FDNY, was in the low hundreds. They did have supplement companies volunteering to come up from all over the country . . . with some of the ones from Jersey and Connecticut already on scene . . . but apparently the window had already been lost, for those bodies to make a difference. The first twenty-four hours had been key to gettin' a handle on things, and instead the problem had just exploded out.

"Exponentially," was the word the fire chief used.

It wasn't a word Daryl himself had ever used before, but he'd been around long enough to know what it meant.

And how bad it was.

So the plan now, according to the chief, was to just pull everyone back, and demo every building for a half mile around, on all sides of the disaster zone. They were hoping that way they could stop the spread, and the fire'd just burn itself out in the middle of the island. It didn't seem to be a bad plan . . . given the lack of all other options, that is . . . but before they could even try it, first they had to get all the people and their pets (no belongings beyond a single carry-on size bag) out of those buildings that they needed to blow up.

And that count of folks, was literally over a million.

So that's where they were, tryin' to work this 'mandatory evacuation,' with basically nothing but city buses and dedicated subway trains. And that was all while the fire was still spreadin' out, eating a block an hour, and blowing toxic smoke and gases everywhere the wind went. So Daryl didn't see how in hell they were gonna save even half those people. Not without some kind of direct 'de-vine intervenin', from the Big Man himself. But from what he'd been seeing, clearly, God didn't seem to playin' for the home team as of late. His lips pressed together.

It was just a real fuckin' bad scene.

It was just then, as he was watchin' footage of a power plant explosion up in Canada, that he heard the phone start to ring. But it wasn't the house phone.

It was the new cell.

He practically dove to grab it off the other end of the coffee table.

"Hey," his voice was slightly breathless when he answered, "you okay?"

Because he was just stressed enough to assume something terrible had happened, like Ed somehow showin' up, and that's why she was calling. So thank God Carol's voice came right back, all calm and soft.

"Yeah hon, we're fine. Sorry if I scared you, I was just," she let out a faint sigh, "well, I was kind of lonely. Sophia's already asleep and there's no TV in here, and I was too wired to read so I figured I'd call and say hi." Then she paused for a second before adding with a bit of hesitation. "I hope that's not too needy, it just being the first night and all."

Feeling a wave of relief pass that there definitely wasn't anything wrong, Daryl immediately let out a heavy breath.

"No sweetheart," he murmured back as he slowly shook his head, "course it's okay. I told ya, you can call whenever. I'm glad you did actually, 'cuz I was thinking about you."

"Really?" She asked, a clear touch of surprise in her voice.

"Yes, really," he answered on a whisper, "I was worried thinkin' about how things went after I left. You have any problems?"

It was good that she'd called, because it was forcing him to finally stop watchin' the damn TV. Though he was a little surprised that there was a pause in her answerin' him on how she was. But then . . . somewhat to his shock . . . she burst into tears.

"I got into a fight with Miss Roberta," she sniffled, "and I'm afraid now she might kick us out!"

He blinked.

"Wait, what?" He sputtered, briefly forgetting about all the rest of the crap he'd been worried about, as he focused in only on Carol, and her much more LOCALIZED problem!

And that's when he half yelled into the phone, "what the hell happened?!"

Then he listened, as she started to tell him about her run-in with Miss Roberta after he left. And even though Carol wouldn't say exactly what it was that triggered it . . . _"she said something mean about you_ ," was all he could get from her . . . after forty years of taking shit from people in that town, he knew damn well Carol couldn't tell him anything tonight, that he hadn't heard before with his own ears. And he told her as much, but she still wouldn't say the words . . . she said she couldn't repeat them.

That she wouldn't hurt him that way.

And it was very sweet how she was tryin' to protect his feelings, but he didn't want her getting into Miss Roberta's bad graces on his account. No, he didn't think for one second the woman would actually kick her and Sophia out . . . mainly because Miss Evelyn wouldn't abide that . . . but the idea of anyone squabbling over him was ridiculous. But he couldn't find it in him to chastise Carol for that, 'cuz she was just being loyal to him. And loyalty was an admirable quality.

One he held in high regard.

Though he did wince when heard how Carol threw up after the fight, and that she'd had a nervous stomach all night. So much so that she ended up getting sick after dinner too, and he was figurin' that was probably why she couldn't sleep either. Which was when he finally cut in and told her to just pull Miss Evelyn aside in the morning, and tell her everything that had happened, and she see what she said. And when Carol tried to push back, saying that she didn't want to get in between the ladies, Daryl pointed out that _he_ was the one actually between them, not her. And Miss Evelyn was already displeased with Miss Roberta about how she'd behaved when he'd been there, so it wasn't like they were stirring shit up that wasn't already stirred. And no matter what, it was best to just get all the rest of it out now, then they could get past it.

From there, it took almost a minute of Carol's quiet breathing in his ear . . . a sound he could get used to real easy . . . before she finally came back again, agreeing that his plan was probably best. But not wantin' to linger on that . . . he just had more experience pissin' people off, was all . . . he quickly changed the subject, asking her what else had happened besides that little run-in.

So then he got to hear about Sophia's chicken feeding adventures with Miss Evelyn, and how later on after she and Sophia had unpacked, they'd all sat down and had lentils and ham hocks for dinner. And how even though it had been over a day and her stomach should've been better, Carol said she had to keep spitting the ham into her napkin because it was grossing her out. At that point, Daryl once more cut in, that time to gently point out how it might've been partly her nervous stomach that had made the ham seem so distasteful. So maybe she should see how she felt after she'd sorted out her issue with Miss Roberta, before she worried about having to become a full fledged vegetarian.

That was the concern Carol was raising.

And it was just so sweet and silly that she'd be thinking something like that, he actually did feel a bit of the tension in his gut letting up. Not all of it, but enough for him to know that having this woman in his life would be real good for him.

He just hoped it'd be good for her too.

Either way, he just let her keep going on with her stories, almost a little bit amazed that she had so much she wanted to talk about. But then he remembered how every little thing, literally ALL OF IT . . . was new to her. Which meant that every conversation, right down to Miss Evelyn offering her a trunk of used clothes to pick through, was big news.

And he kinda loved that.

That she could be so excited about everything . . . because he couldn't remember the last time he'd been excited about anything.

Except probably her.

Finally though, in the middle of a story about how happy she'd been to be able to help Miss Evelyn finalize their elderly meal plan for the week . . . " _it was the first time in ages I felt like I was contributing to something important"_ . . . Carol cut herself off with a worried, "am I boring you? Because I have no gauge anymore on what's normal conversation, so please tell me if I'm being boring talking about all this stuff."

And his eyes crinkled.

"Not even a little bit," he whispered back, "I like listenin' to you talk. And I like to hear how excited you are about startin' fresh." He shifted back on the couch as he took a breath. "So what's the plan for tomorrow? You didn't tell me if you got chores yet."

"Oh yeah," Carol nodded even though Daryl wasn't there to see it. "Miss Evelyn and I talked about that. I told her I can cook and bake really well, so aside from a little bit of garden work each day, that's going to be my main thing. I'll help with the meals. I found out they have almost twenty-two regular clients, that's the word they use, clients, that they deliver to each day between seven and noon. And they also have a big chart they follow to make sure that all of those people get an extended visit one day a week, so they don't feel isolated being all by themselves." She bit her lip, "you know they really are doing God's work here, Daryl, which is why it's so _frustrating_ that Miss Roberta is being this way towards you. How can somebody be so selectively good, and selectively hateful, all at the same time?"

Daryl had to snort at that.

"Come on Carol, you know as well as me, there's all kinds of piousness in God fearing people. It's been that way from the beginning."

"I know," she let out on a sigh as she pulled her knees up to her chest, and leaned back against the headboard, "it just makes me sad to see it. But anyway," she let out a slow breath, "that's enough about my night. What have you been up to?"

It wasn't that she'd intended to hijack so much of the conversation, but it was just strange to actually have someone to talk _to_. It had literally been YEARS, since she could say that was true.

And now, she could hear Daryl's disinterested grunt coming through the line.

"Uh, not much. Got home, cleaned up a bit, had a beer and a shower, and ordered a pizza. Mostly I've just been watching the news since then."

"Oh," Carol's eyes widened, "what's been going on? Have there been more attacks today?"

The question was straightforward, but there was no response from Daryl beyond a deep, heavy, breath. It was a breath that set Carol's nerves on end, because she knew then that whatever else _had_ happened . . . it had to have been worse than what she'd already seen. So she tried prompting him, this time using a gentler tone.

"How bad?" She whispered.

Still though, the pause went on for a moment longer. Long enough for Carol to start chewing on her lip, but then finally she heard Daryl sigh.

"It's _all_ bad sweetheart," he choked back, "everywhere. This flu's killing like a hundred thousand people a DAY. There was another plane that disappeared, cruise ships sinkin', passenger trains crashed in like four countries, tens of thousands of people burned up in this massive fire that's still going in the Philippines. And those attacks, they're poppin' up all over now. One happened just a little while ago in Brazil durin' a soccer match. It was live footage, and I had to change the channel it was so awful. And on top of ALL that, half of New York City's just gone! And the way it looks now, the rest of it probably will be within the week. It's just, well, it's just too much is all," his voice faded, "it's just too much."

Feeling her chest hurt at the pain in Daryl's voice, Carol closed her eyes for a second.

"That all sounds absolutely terrible," she murmured, "and I'm sorry that you're there by yourself dealing with it. I'd give you a hug right now if I could."

Daryl's mouth twisted in a sad smile.

"You know, I think you're the first person since my momma, who wanted to give me a hug just 'cuz I was feelin' down."

"Well," Carol's expression softened, "you know, hugs are good for you. They've even done studies that prove they can help lower stress, and keep you from getting sick."

"Hmph," Daryl huffed, "that's interestin'. You think it really works? The keeping you from getting sick part, I mean, because it does sound like we should be workin' up our immune system right now."

There was a brief pause, where he figured Carol was thinking about the question. But then he heard her come back in a hushed tone.

"I don't know about cancers and all that, but I think there's something to be said about it for helping fight off colds, and those kinds of germs. I hug Sophia as much as I can," she continued quietly, "a bear hug in the morning and again before bed, and she hasn't had more than a sniffle in three years. And she's right at the age where she should be picking up everything. So," her voice brightened a bit, "yeah, if we need to watch out for this flu, we're definitely going to cash in this missing hug you should be getting right now."

Feeling a spark of amusement hit him, the corner of Daryl's mouth inched up.

"Well, the CDC lady said something about hand washin' and face masks but," he huffed, "you ain't going to get no arguments from me, if you're gonna start playin' octopus when you see me."

Hearing Carol's soft chuckle in his ear, that faint smirk that had been pullin' on his lips . . . became a full blown smile.

It was sort of amazing that a few minutes of talking with her, and he could actually be feelin' better about the state of this shit canned world. Unfortunately though . . . his eyes drifted over to the clock on the wall . . . it was almost eleven.

Damn.

"If you need to get up early for meal packing," he continued aloud, "then you should be gettin' to sleep. You think you're gonna be able to do that now?"

"Yeah," Carol let out a quiet breath, "I think so. I guess I just needed to talk to you to feel better."

For a moment they both silent, Daryl because he was thinkin' about whether to say the thing that he wanted to say. Then he just said fuck it.

And blurted it out.

"We could do this on the regular, if you want." Then he paused for a second, before adding on the clarifier, "a bedtime call, is what I mean. If you think that'd help you sleep."

He heard faint huff on the other end of the line, before Carol answered with a happy, "yeah, I'd like that a lot," and he felt a bit more of the tension leave his body. Because he'd like that too. To finish out his days with this woman whisperin' in his ear . . . even if she was coming through a phone line . . . well, that'd be a gift. And though he would've liked to stay on the call a little longer, until he could shake off the rest of this tension in his gut, and the bad thoughts in his head, it was time to let her go.

She did need to wake up early.

So he whispered, "all right then, you sleep well sweetheart, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

And he waited until he heard her let out a soft sigh, and a, "good night." Then there was a pause though, like maybe she was gonna say somethin' else. But just before he was about to ask if she was okay . . . he heard the line click.

She was gone.

/*/*/*/*/*

It wasn't too long after Daryl arrived at the prison, that he started thinking the idea of visitin' Merle in person, rather than waiting for him to call, hadn't been one of his best. Because as he was gettin' waved through the gate, he saw they had a big ass line of people curling around the visitors' parking lot.

And that's when he saw the sign about the prison's new flu precautions.

Specifically, that nobody was allowed inside the building, if they were showing any symptoms at all. Of anything. And the symptoms in particular that were being watched for, (such as they were listed out in big black letters), were blood shot eyes (good thing he'd only had the three beers last night), elevated blood pressure (it'd been twelve hours since he'd last seen anybody eaten in live Technicolor, so he was good), or any temperature at all above 98.6 degrees.

His average was 97.3.

So he was expectin' to get signed off by whatever medical person was watchin' the door, without any problems. But then he realized there were actually a few people on the door.

Daryl learned that little fact about four minutes later, after he'd parked his truck and started to walk up to join the line of people waitin' to get their mini check-up. The way they were doing it was, they had a folding table out with boxes and some medical stuff on it, and what seemed to be a nurse there (not likely to be a doctor who'd be wasting her time out in his heat) in her gloves and mask, checkin' everybody who came up to the table. But then _behind_ her, on each side, there was a rifle bound prison guard. So if the nurse didn't clear you to enter the building, it was very clear what the consequences were if you didn't immediately leave the premises.

Bang, bang.

On its face, yeah, that seemed pretty fucked up. But after what he'd learned on the news last night, Daryl could very much see the point in making those kinds of precautions. You just can't have a global epidemic start spreadin' through a prison, that has one part-time doctor and three rotatin' nurses. That story ended only one way.

With all the inmates dead.

And given he did have some personal interest in one of those inmates, he was happy enough with the hardass approach they were using to screen people. Really, Merle might have been a mean, disgusting, foul tempered, son of a bitch . . . but he was his brother.

And he wanted him to stay safe.

So, best as he could, Daryl pushed down his anxiety about being forced to stand in with a "crowd" (even single file, it was still too many people around him) while he waited there in line, workin' up a good sweat in the rising heat, to get down front. That's where he finally had his eyes checked, and blood pressure and temperature taken. And just like he'd anticipated, thumbs up all around there, so he was given a form to sign swearing that he didn't have the flu, and as far as he knew hadn't been in direct contact with anyone else who had the flu neither. Once he'd passed that paper back, some dude eyeballed his signature, and then finally he got the wave to go in the building for the normal security check.

At that point he'd already been at the prison for almost forty minutes.

Fortunately though, the line inside the building, didn't take near so long as the one outside, because it was all the standard wands and metal detectors to get waved through. So it was just another six minutes or so before he was showing his license, and signing in at the desk to say who he was there to see. Then on his way down to the visitor's room. And because it was a medium security facility, the visitin' space was an open space. Meaning, you didn't need a telephone to talk, because there was no wall separating the cons from their friends and/or family.

The person you were there to see, was just sittin' on the other side of the table.

There was a divider, but it was only about chest high, and that was nothing. You still weren't allowed to touch, or pass anything back or forth, but you could at least have a private conversation. That was a big difference from Georgia State Prison (the maximum security lockup where Merle had been sent to once about ten years back) where you always had to assume somebody was listenin' in on the phone line.

And today was definitely NOT a day Daryl could have anybody listenin' in on their conversation!

It wasn't until he actually walked into the visitor's room though, and he saw Merle already sitting and waiting for him at one of the small tables down in the back, did Daryl realize that he had no idea what the hell he was gonna even _say_ , anyway! Because the weekend on the whole, was one fuckin' "incident" after another. And you roll all those "incidents" together, it just sounded like a damn made-up story. Like Merle was going to think he was on the pipe or something.

He rolled his eyes.

Shit.

So for that reason, as Daryl dropped down into the blue plastic chair, he was biting his lip, still thinkin' on the best approach there to convince his brother just how bad a shit storm had started brewin' in the outside world. But then Merle leaned forward and started hissin' at him over the divider.

"Where the FUCK have you been, you cocksucker!? I got the God damn Dominicans in here up my ass 'cuz nobody picked up the damn SHIT like they were supposed to! You know how that makes me look?!" He snarled. "Like a damn BITCH! So you'd better've been in a _FUCKIN'_ coma this weekend Darlina, or so help me Jesus I'm gonna kick your ass six ways to Sunday when I get outta here!"

It was quite the little show. And Daryl just sat there calmly through the whole thing, waiting until Merle was finished with his usual blusterin' nonsense. Once he'd stopped shootin' spit over the divider though, Daryl let his eyebrow inch up.

"You done?"

His tone was completely cool, borderline disinterested, because he'd been listenin' to this same line of bullshit his whole fuckin' life. Not once, had his brother ever greeted him in one of these places with a, "thanks for coming," or "good to see ya, man." It was always just a string of macho crap that he had to get out of his system. And he could see Merle even now do the usual jaw clench right before his eyes bounced up and around the room.

Finally they snapped back to his.

"Yeah," he grunted, "I'm done." He leaned in, "now what happened?"

So Daryl started telling his story. And he decided right then, to do it right from the beginning . . . how that dumbass had given him the wrong fuckin' address. At that point it didn't matter for dick of course, but for him to be able to see that twitch in his brother's cheek. He'd fucked up, and Daryl wanted him to know that.

And he wanted him to know that was part of the story.

Then he went from there, told him about the old lady and her laundry cart, and the crazy motherfucker who'd eaten her for dinner. And that's when Merle's eyes started getting wide. Almost like it was a story he'd heard before, so Daryl stopped what he was sayin', to ask him flat out if he had something to add. But Merle just shook his head and muttered, "not now." That was a answer that clearly caught Daryl's attention, because it meant his brother did know something.

He was just holdin' his cards close.

And Daryl wanted to push him to answer, but there was no point to that. He'd share when he was ready. So in the meantime, Daryl kept going, telling about the tires getting jacked, the growlin' in the alley, then again when he was walking through the streets, the shootout outside the fleabag hotel, the dead dog behind the fence, the attack in the street, and then finally the massacres at the two funeral homes, and the dozens, and _dozens_ of attacks that had been reported in just Atlanta, over that single weekend. He told his brother every single horrifying detail of every encounter he'd had, and every news report he'd watched since, but for leavin' one thing out.

The ladies.

Yeah, he kept Carol and Sophia completely out of the story. In a few weeks, Merle would either be tried and released . . . at which point he could meet Daryl's new ladyfriend and her daughter . . . or he'd be tried and convicted.

And he could meet them in one to three years if Daryl and Carol were still acquainted.

Either way though, they weren't a topic of conversation that needed to be brought up today. Most particularly, because he knew Merle would've called him a pussy for takin' 'em in the way he had. And he _definitely_ would've said something crude and nasty about Carol, because that was just how he was about all women, whether he'd even met 'em before or not. And all that woulda just ended with him bustin' his brother's nose over the divider, right before he became banned as a visitor, for life.

The point of the story was the violence anyway, and Daryl'd definitely made his point clear on that. Because by the time he was done talkin,' Merle had his elbows on the table, and his fingers steepled up, pressed against his mouth. And knowin' how much there was to digest, Daryl just sat there quietly, and let his brother swallow it all done. But then finally he heard him let out a low, steady, sigh.

"Shit," he shook his head, "I'd really been hopin' you'd been in a car accident."

"Yeah," Daryl rolled his eyes, "sorry to disappoint you, asshole, but I got delayed by a bunch of fuckin' cannibals. And I ain't goin' back in that city again for anything, so your shit is gonna rot for all I care. And if it comes to that," feeling a fresh spike of anger, Daryl poked his finger over the barrier, "you should let it rot. Because there's still a possibility that's part of what's fuelin' this, and you know damn well you don't want that kinda blood on your hands, neither."

Seeing how Merle flinched when he said that, Daryl knew his brother agreed with him there. Again, the guy was a racist, intolerant, SOB . . . but he wasn't ALL bad. He'd just spent too much time with Daddy, was the main thing. But he'd been the first born son, the _only_ son in fact for almost ten years, so that was a lotta time for Buck to imprint on his boy. And by Daryl's impressions, lookin' back, the reason Momma had tried to keep him more with her when he was little, was because of how she'd seen Merle turnin' out.

With an ugly streak.

Which was something his brother still had in spades. And in those moments when Merle was a _COMPLETE_ ass wipe, Daryl'd sometimes wish he'd just go off one day . . . and disappear. But then later, he'd always feel bad about those thoughts. Because all they had was each other.

And you couldn't go wishin' off your other half.

So even now, knowin' Merle really and _truly_ had been hoping he'd been in a car accident that weekend, Daryl couldn't feel much in the way of real malice towards him. It was like being pissed off at a knife for slicing up your finger. That's what knives do.

They cut into things.

And that's what Merle did too. And a knife can't help doing what it did, anymore than his brother could help what he did. You just gotta accept it and move on.

Still though, malicious feelings or not, Daryl made sure to keep quiet, and let Merle REALLY think on the idea that the drugs he made, might actually be contributin' towards the attacks that were swirlin' up all around. And he did that because meth never did anybody any favors, except for the assholes who made a profit off of it.

Like Merle.

So that sum' bitch most definitely did deserve at least a little bit of the bother, Daryl could see on his face. But after he'd let that set for a minute, he finally broke the silence.

"That's all I got to say," he grunted, "now you tell me, what'd _you_ hear? And don't say you ain't heard nothin', because you know I can tell when you're lyin'."

For a moment Merle just continued to stare over at him . . . his jaw had started to click. He did that when he was thinkin'. But then his face twisted up in a nasty scowl right before his eyes darted up and around, checking again to make sure that none of the other dozen or so people (guards included), were listenin' in on them. Once he was satisfied they weren't, he growled a bit, right before he leaned in.

Then he started to tell his own story.

How on Sunday morning, something had happened in the infirmary. One of the guys off D Block had been sick in there since Friday, with some kind of fever. But that morning at shift change, when the new nurse leaned in to wake him up, at first she couldn't get any vitals. So she started to turn away to go call for help, when suddenly this guy just attacked her. Literally tore a piece of her throat out before anybody could do anything. Not that anybody else in the room was really in a place to do anything for her . . . they were all prisoners cuffed to their beds. But with them screamin' and hollerin', they did manage to get the guards to come running in right in time to see the D Block guy, yankin' his wrist outta the cuff holding him to his bed.

They figure he had to have broke every God damn bone in his hand to get that done.

And seeing the blood running down his face, and the nurse lyin' dead on the floor, the guards just went full tilt. Started beating his head in with their nightsticks. They just kept going and going until his skull was mush.

Then they covered it all up.

One of the patients in there though, he was the connection inside for general contraband like cigarettes and such. He'd been laid up from dropping a weight on his foot, and when he got out later that morning . . . they'd cleared out everyone from the infirmary who was able to breathe without a tube . . . he met up with Merle out in the yard, and told him what had happened. And he said they'd had both the D block guy, AND the nurse, bagged up and dragged out within the hour. Which was fuckin' WEIRD, because nobody took no pictures or prints, or even asked anybody else in the room what had happened. Literally once the warden got there, he'd whispered something to the guards and that was that. It was like they were just gonna pretend it didn't happen.

And nobody knew why.

Daryl's jaw twitched.

"Yeah," he murmured, "even for what I saw, that's weird. I mean," he shook his head, "at least at the funeral home they still did forensics and all that. But . . ."

And then he stopped, as another thought came to him. But then Merle smacked the table.

"But _what_?" He growled.

" _But_ ," Daryl continued softly while shooting his brother an eyebrow, "that was the day before. And from what I saw on the news, these attacks are happenin' by the hundreds now, so maybe their dealin' with them different."

For a moment they were both quiet, but for his part, Daryl was thinking about a world where everybody stopped caring how somebody got dead, and just dragged their body away, no questions asked.

That was scary as fuck.

Finally he just shook his head.

"After today," he continued softly, "I ain't straying far from home again, 'til this all plays out."

Then he looked up, and jerked his chin towards Merle.

"What are you gonna do? Because you can't avoid a crowd in here, and I'm tellin' you brother, you're gonna be right and truly, _fucked_ , if one of these attacks breaks out in the yard, or during chow when everybody's pressed together. It's like," his nostrils flared as he shook his head, "hell, there ain't nothing like it. The best I could say would be a rabid dog, but it's a person and all they wanna do is just tear you to bits with their teeth."

Merle brought his hand up to scrub along his jaw.

"If it's all that bad," he grunted, "and I'm taking ya word for it 'cuz you ain't fucked up enough to lie about something like that, then I'm just gonna get myself put in the hole. If I work it right," his lips pursed as he nodded to himself, "should take me to trial."

Daryl's eyebrow shot up.

"Really? Because you know, you're gonna have to do some real serious shit to get three weeks. Even that time you started the fire in your cell, you only got like four days."

That was just one of the many letters Daryl had received over the years explainin' to him, that his brother had done one thing or another resulting in his visiting privileges bein' lost for X period of time.

Asshole couldn't behave himself anywhere.

"Yeah, yeah," Merle scowled and waved his hand, "I'll figure somethin' out," his eyes shot up and over Daryl's head to the clock on the wall across the room, "and it's comin' up on twelve, so I'll do it right after chow, so I can get one last big meal in first."

"All right then," Daryl gave a shrug as he muttered, "good luck gettin' your ass locked up."

Then he shoved back his chair, and stood up. Because they were about done there. And he was just about to turn and walk away, when he realized, given all that was going on, this might actually be the last conversation they had for a good while.

So he shoved his hand into his pocket.

"Got a new burner," he grunted while pulling it from his pocket, "maybe you should take the number."

Then he opened it up, and held the little black phone out in front of the divider. After a few seconds of staring, Merle nodded.

"Got it." He murmured. So figurin' they were done for sure now, Daryl started to leave again.

But he'd only got three steps before he heard, "hey, Darlina," so he turned back around with a roll of his eyes.

" _What?"_

There was no hiding the annoyance in his tone, but he saw that Merle was just smirking up at him.

"Try not to die like a bitch before I see ya again."

Daryl stared down at him for a moment, before he let out on a faint, disgusted, snort, "you really are a dick, man."

Then he turned away and started to walk out. From behind him though, he could hear Merle yelling across the room, "LOVE YOU TOO, BABY BROTHER!"

He didn't look back.

/*/*/*/*

Daryl was halfway home when it happened again.

Up until then, the trip back to Blackburn had been pretty smooth. When he'd left the prison it had been just shy of noon, and it was a Monday, so traffic was pretty light on the highway. That was until he rolled into Dawsonville. That's when he'd had to hit his brakes, because all of a sudden, all he could see in front of him were red tail lights. At first he hadn't thought much of it, traffic was traffic. And really, he'd just been lucky it was the first of it that he'd hit that day. And Dawsonville was such a middling size place that the Interstate cut through, and so far north of Atlanta, that the worse didn't even occur to him at first. Because even after hearin' what had happened to that poor nurse at the infirmary, he was still thinkin' of these attacks as being an 'urban' problem. And that was because all the news he'd watched the night before, all the places listed with the spikes in the violence . . . they were cities. He hadn't heard or seen nothing yet about any smaller towns being affected. At least not until then.

Not until Dawsonville.

But it was after a very slow series of stops and gos that went on for at least a mile moving through that town, that finally both lanes of traffic just stopped completely.

And they didn't start up again.

It wasn't until that moment, when he was sitting there, idling, trying to see over the cars and trucks ahead to find the delay, that Daryl started to get an itch on the back of his neck. Because he immediately flashed on the taxi ride in the city. How they'd gone from 'stop and go,' to 'stop,' to 'all hell breaking loose.'

And all without any warning at all.

That's when his lane began to move again.

It was just a slow inching along, but inching was fine as it meant going forward, so he just kept going with the flow. And as he rolled down that section of I-19 that cut through the town proper, he finally saw the hold up. It was an accident.

One involvin' an ambulance and an SUV.

The SUV had spun around a couple of times, you could see that from the marks where the rubber had burned into the road. And the driver, he was standin' there by his vehicle, holding his bloody head, talking to a lady trooper.

He seemed to be crying.

The ambulance though, that was on its side, covering over half of the southbound lane. There was no sign of the crew anywhere that Daryl could see. But there was a sheet draped over the back of the doors.

He did not take that as a positive sign.

And even though he'd had to have seen dozens of accidents in his life, somehow, once again, he'd immediately thought back to the fender bender in Atlanta. The one that had ended with all those people screaming and running.

So his hackles had shot straight up.

He'd wanted so much to be wrong, but still, he was watching for it as his truck kept moving along, inch by inch, by those broken down vehicles. There were flares hissing on the ground, and firefighters and state troopers all around him by then. They were all making notes and having conversations, with both each other and the bystanders.

It was a lot of people.

And Daryl was juuuuuust rolling by the engine block of the SUV, when it happened . . . just like he'd feared it would.

People had started screamin'.

His eyes'd shot up to his rearview mirror, and he'd seen them all runnin', all the cops and the firefighters, all moving towards the ambulance.

And all the civilians running away.

At that point, the point where his heart was in his throat, instinct just kicked in. Because he knew those guns were no guarantee this was gonna end quickly. Or well.

Just ask that lady cop in Atlanta, who'd had her hands chewed off on Saturday afternoon.

And he wasn't stayin' around to see that nightmare play out again. So he'd just rammed the front end of that busted up SUV, got himself into the coned off section of the Southbound land . . . narrowly missed hittin' a trooper runnin' the other way . . . and floored it.

And he didn't stop.

Even after the road opened up again, with his heart still poundin', he'd just kept weaving in and out of traffic using the breakdown lane, and the northbound side of the highway. And somehow he kept a minimum speed of seventy miles per hour, until he'd gone clear over to the next county. And in all that time, all he had was one thought on his mind.

He'd wanted to see Carol.

It was strange, given how she was such a new part of his life, that she felt like such an old one. There was something about her though, something he was drawn to . . . and it comforted him.

But she'd still been at least an hour away.

Then he'd realized, even if he couldn't see her . . . they could talk. Hell, that's why they'd bought the damn cell phones. For EMERGENCY communication!

And hell if that wasn't a freaking emergency!

So at the next place he saw to pull over . . . a small rest area . . . he'd turned in, and pulled into a space down in back, far from the building.

Well away from the people.

And that's where he was now, yanking the phone out of his pants pocket. Then he quickly pulled up Carol's number . . . the only one on the contact list . . . and smacked his finger down on the green button. And then in his ear, the line started to ring once . . . two times . . . three . . . and then her happy voice.

"Hey, I was just dusting the flour off my hands. What's up?"

He leaned forward then, letting out a heavy breath, as he put his head down on the steering wheel.

"I just uh," he cleared his throat, "I just wanted to say hi."

His words came out much huskier than he'd expected they would. And God love that woman . . . somehow she knew immediately somethin' had happened. Because he could hear the change in her breathing, the way she sucked in a breath.

And then the anxiety when she came back.

"Oh God," she hissed, "you saw another one!"

There was no effort on her part to even pretend it was a question . . . she just knew. So he didn't try to deflect.

He just answered straight up.

"Yeah," his jaw twitched, "well, I got outta there quick enough not to see the actual attack, but I was right there. It was a traffic accident like in Atlanta, so I already had a déjà vu thing happen'. And I was rolling by the tail end of it, when the screamin' started, so I just took off and didn't look back." He sighed, "But God damn Carol, Merle told me there was one in the prison too. A nurse got killed yesterday morning by one of the inmates, and everything is just so FUCKED UP," he scrubbed his hand against his forehead, "and I don't know what to do to get right with this happenin' every time I turn around."

There was a bit more desperation in his tone than he was comfortable with, but he was seriously about reaching the end of his rope on this point. It shoulda been a QUIET fuckin' day! But apparently he couldn't even leave home for a few hours now without stumbling into this shit again. And now it was spreadin' into the towns too.

Oh Christ, he thought then with a hard snap of his jaw, maybe Blackburn wasn't gonna be isolated enough.

Maybe it was gonna spread up there too.

For a brief moment, he felt a genuine spark of panic at that image in his mind . . . of bodies in the street in Blackburn . . . but then he heard Carol's voice in his ear again. It was soft and gentle.

And soothing.

"It's okay hon," she whispered, "I know you're stressed, but that's normal, because like you were saying last night, it just seems like everything's all bad, and we don't know when it's going to get better. But you just come see me now and we can talk. And I can give you that missing hug too," she took a breath, "because I can hear in your voice how much you need it."

And in that moment Daryl couldn't help but compare the conversation he'd had with his brother . . . who was, at the _least_ , supposed to be the person who gave a shit about his state of well being . . . to this one with Carol. How Merle just told him not to die like a bitch, and here she just wants him to come see her so she can give him a hug.

'Cuz she knows he needs it.

"Um," he cleared his throat again, "I ain't home yet. I drove straight out until I got into the next county, but I'm still probably about an hour away. You know, if there aren't anymore, uh," he bit his lip, "delays."

Delays . . . psychotic cannibals roaming the streets of Georgia. It was all the same these days. It was like fuckin' _end_ of days.

Or somethin' just like it.

His thoughts on that point were interrupted when he heard Carol come back again, still speakin' with a soft, soothing tone.

"All right then, well you be safe, and don't stop for anything else if you can help it. Just get back here. I'll be in the garden, so come straight around the side. Then you won't have to see anybody else."

"Mmm," he stuck to the murmur for a second, while he tried to push down the emotion he could feel creepin' into his voice. "Okay, I'll um," he let out a slow breath, "I'll see ya soon."

Then he quickly hung up before Carol said anything else. Because having someone who expressed actual concern and _care_ for him, was new. And not having no experience with it, least not as an adult, it kinda cut into his composure. And he didn't wanna come off like a damn pussy, gettin' all emotional just 'cuz she was being all perfect and nurturin'. What kinda man would he be then?

The kind _probably_ , that Carol wouldn't want nothin' to do with.

But after he'd taken a breath, and let it out real slow, he started feelin' more like himself. Yeah, he was still seriously worked up, and okay . . . afraid, of whatever this was that was creepin' like the plague, but that was no excuse for gettin' soft. If anything, this was the time to toughen up. That was the only way to get through the hard stuff. And after the stuff he'd learned today, he knew in his bones, that the hard times were gonna stuck around for a bit.

So to get himself through that, as his jaw clenched, and he turned the key in the ignition, he reminded himself yet again . . . one hour until he could see Carol.

That hour couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

 _A/N 2: From season 2 canon, Daryl clearly was a bit rattled when Carol started to show real, personal concern for him, so I'm sort of working a degree of that in here too. Not in the recoil way he did on the show where he called her a bitch, (that would be weird here :)), but that even though he's been pursuing her, and they have this connection building, those feelings start to suddenly become much more real and serious when he contrasts her behavior to Merle's. The people who are good for him, and the people who aren't. That's already coming up here with the simple contrast of two sentences. And it does seem like I'm kind of breaking Daryl down a little, but consider how TRULY upsetting, this would have been in the beginning. Just constant stress and frustration and fear because you don't know what's happening, and you don't have any control over this spiraling situation. We met our clan on stage 5 . . . acceptance. They were living in the new world order, but it's a messy cascade to reach that point, so there will be some stressors along the way._

 _I feel like Godzilla stomping through New York. But it was weird, just before I started this chapter I saw this article about a study that been done for fun using existing disease transmission models, but with a ZA virus. And they used NY as the example. The numbers, which I thought seemed WAY high, were that essentially Manhattan would be lost within 24 hours. Literally everyone would be dead or infected. Yes, it's congested but you don't have 8 million people standing in a big circle. It's a vertical city spread out over X miles in all directions, and not everybody is out mingling every day. So I think it would take a few days to a week for complete annihilation. But here remember a plane full of walkers crashed into mid-town. So even assuming some got burned up in the crash, or were trapped in their seats, you could still have hundreds of walkers shooting out, infecting everyone, in all directions. That's OUR transmission model :) And I did feel badly "killing" hundreds of pretend NY firefighters, for obvious reasons. But running blind into a disaster zone, clearly they wouldn't have had a chance against walkers. And just the idea that they would keep disappearing and nobody would realize what was happening, just was so creepy to me._

 _Beyond that, sticking with the general idea that places with huge populations in confined spaces, (shantytowns, cruise ships, train cars) would be the next thing to begin falling. And then it'll all be rolling out like dominos. Same with the fatality rates on the flu. That wasn't covered in Fear TWD, but clearly in that world they knew the flu was spreading and people were taking precautions, so there had to be reports on how dangerous it was becoming. And no, hugs probably won't save you from the zombie infection :) BUT, it is true that real studies have shown they do help bolster your immune system, so hey, if the world's ending and you have the opportunity to give NR a couple of bear hugs, it just might help! :)_

 _You may wonder why I went with the detail of Daryl futzing around the house rather than a quick narrative of home, cleaned, beer, shower, dinner. And that was for the simple reason of making him 'normal.' That was the point of the chapter title, 'there I am, there I always am,' this is his regular life. This is the routine, these are the people in it, and it's nothing special . . . except for the Apocalypse poking its claws in around the edges. And like with Carol, knowing how far Daryl will go to become extraordinary in the new world, it's good to see where he's coming from, right before the bottom falls out._

 _Also the title clearly plays into his relationship specifically with Merle, and how taking crap from his brother is just the way things are and he accepts it. But I specifically pulled Carol back in at the end, because I liked the idea of already pushing on the 'nobody will ever love you' button, by showing him that it is possible to have somebody in his life who has his back and doesn't treat him like shit. A novelty for him._

 _Next time, we will start to see hints that Blackburn is on the brink of meeting its first walkers. And to that end, I'm trying to recall what the fastest 'turn' was from "Dead to Walker." Anybody remember one going in less than eight hours? Just trying to work out some technical details for down the road :)_

 _As always, thanks everyone for the feedback and support!_


	13. Things That Were Lost

**Author's Note** : I had a very enjoyable time writing this chapter. From beginning to end, no blocks, no hair pulling, just a smooth ride. And I am very pleased with how it came together. I hope you all agree :) And on the plus side for you folks, this mother is HUGE. Like huge of the variety that I said we wouldn't have any longer, huge. But again, it came together very easily so it wasn't as stressful as the gigantic ones usually are. But this is NOT going to become the norm again! :)

We will have here at the opening, the awaited back story on the Dixons and Miss Roberta. Fair warning if you have any "sensitivities," it's a doozy! Hence the title of the chapter.

Beyond that, some Daryl/Caryl romantical bits, some Daryl/Sophia sweetness, and some all around creepiness, are on the horizon. So, something for everyone! And I decided for these next few weeks of their life, (before the ZA is complete) I'm going to start putting a timestamp on the chapters so we can keep easier track of events. So the "Day X" will be how many days out it's been since Caryl met in the city. Time's flying!

So this is Carol shortly after that last call with Daryl, waiting for him to get to the house.

And, lastly, on my Tumblr post I did put up a picture I found of the actress who played Sophia, at her correct 'just going on ten' age. I did that because I mentioned in an earlier chapter how I thought the kids aged up pretty fast from RL to show life because of how long production took. But she has some prominence in here and I thought a reminder of how at this time she really is just a 'little kid,' would be good to see.

* * *

 _Monday Afternoon - Tuesday Afternoon._

 _Day 5 - 6_

 **Things That Were Lost**

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow."

That was Carol's continued moan of pain as she arched her back and slowly came up to her feet.

After thirty plus minutes of weeding the vegetable patch, she had definitely come to the conclusion she was way too old to be crawling around on her hands and knees in the dirt. Fortunately she only needed to put in an hour a day there to fulfill her promise to Miss Evelyn. But now that she'd actually _started_ with the gardening, she felt kind of bad about only putting that little amount of time in on it each day. Because if she was already aching all over at _her_ age, she couldn't even imagine how badly the biddies must feel by the end of the week.

They had to be broken.

Uck . . . she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead . . . maybe she'd have Sophia put in some set time in the garden too. Maybe twenty minutes early in the day, and twenty minutes at the end. She didn't want to work her baby like a plow horse, but she was young enough that scrambling about in the dirt was still "fun."

Those years were LONG behind Carol.

And she was just about to take a weeding break and move on to peach collection . . . the crop had just started to ripen the week before and Miss Evelyn said they should start gathering a few baskets full each day . . . when she heard the back door squeak open.

Carol's arm came up to shield her face as she looked across the yard.

It was Miss Evelyn coming down the steps, carrying a tray with what looked like a pitcher of sweet tea.

Plus a couple of glasses.

"You're going to get heatstroke out here, child!" She called over to where Carol was standing by the tomato plants, "you shouldn't be out midday without a hat and a cold drink!"

Carol laughed.

"Yeah," she let out a huff as she started walking towards where Miss Evelyn had paused in the middle of the grass, "I realized I should've brought a drink out with me about ten minutes in, but at that point," she shot the other woman a sheepish grin, "I couldn't get up off the ground."

Hearing the older woman's soft chuckle at her little (not really a) joke, gave Carol a spot of warmth in her chest. Because female camaraderie was something else that she'd missed over the years.

It was nice to get it back.

"Oh my yes," she snorted, "I was about your age when getting up off the ground started to become a process. So I started doing squats," she smacked the side of her thigh, "I've got myself up to a hundred a day now. Half in the morning, half at night. So that's all I can suggest to help with the creaking. That," she pointed down to Carol's knees, "and get the knee pads out of the shed. Otherwise you're going to be crippled by the end of the week."

"Ah," Carol bit her lip, "knee pads. That would definitely be helpful."

And something it would've been nice to know about before she was sent out into the yard . . . but there was no way to say that without sounding like a bitch.

So she bit her tongue.

It was just then though that she saw Miss Evelyn was making a gesture towards the small patio table and awning.

"Let's sit for a minute."

From the tone, it was clear that was more of an instruction than a request.

So though Carol was more than a little distracted thinking about Daryl still being on the road . . . he was actually due in another twenty minutes or so, if he hadn't had any more delays . . . she started pulling her gloves from her hands as she followed Miss Evelyn through the short grass. They were heading over to the five by ten patch of brick, that the ladies had laid down nearer a few of the peach trees. The table and chairs were setup in the middle of the patio, with a homemade brick barbecue pit built out on one end.

The oversized awning covered over everything.

And when Carol walked underneath it, she could feel the temperature drop a good ten degrees just from being out of the sun.

"Phew," she whistled while pulling back one of the chairs with a scrape along the red stone, "it's nice under here." And Miss Evelyn nodded as she placed the tray down on the table.

"Yeah," she gave a quick glance around, "we built this area about fifteen years back, and we've been happy with it. It's especially nice in the fall," she gave Carol a soft smile, "but if you're still here by then you'll be able to see that for yourself."

Realizing this was about as a good an opening as she was going to get, Carol decided to just plow into the Miss Roberta conversation that she'd been wanting (dreading) to have all day. She'd planned for it first thing that morning, but she and Miss Evelyn hadn't had any time alone then like she'd expected they would. And then the ladies had gone off to deliver the meals.

This was actually the first she'd seen of either of them since seven am.

And though Carol knew she might be kicking her foot into a hornet's nest here, this wasn't an issue she felt good about putting off. Because even if Miss Roberta hadn't said anything about their fight yet . . . and Carol was assuming from Miss Evelyn's words about them being there in the fall, that she hadn't . . . it could be coming at any time.

And she'd prefer to get out in front of that.

So she cleared her throat.

"Um," she started speaking slowly while leaning forward to pick up the glass pitcher, "about our staying. Uh," she swallowed, "I know this is going to sound very awkward, but I thought you should know that I had a bit of a uh, well," she turned over one of the plastic glasses, "I had some words with Miss Roberta last night about um," her eyes shot over to Miss Evelyn's, "Daryl. And, well," she let her gaze drop back to the glass as she began pouring the tea into it, "I'm just not sure if she's all that keen now about us staying here much longer."

There, she'd gotten it out. And yes, this was shaping up to be just as awkward a conversation as she'd feared it would be.

Though . . . to her surprise . . . when she looked back over, Carol realized that Miss Evelyn didn't have the expression of annoyance or confusion like she might've expected she would have in that moment. Instead she just looked kind of, well . . . she almost seemed pleased by what she'd said.

And that was kind of strange.

"Yes Carol," she finally answered with a gentle smile, "I already know about you two exchanging words. Roberta told me the whole story last night while you and Sophia were unpacking."

Carol's eyes widened in shock.

"You've known since _then_ ," she sputtered in disbelief, "before dinner, even?" And the older woman nodded.

"Yes, at our age, Roberta and I are kind of beyond secret keeping, and I was obviously already aware of her feelings about Daryl, so there wasn't any point in her not mentioning your conversation regarding him. Especially," Miss Evelyn winced, "given how you threw up afterwards."

Apparently seeing the look of shock on Carol's face, she nodded.

"Yes, Roberta heard you, and she felt terrible about that. Truly, she never intended to upset you that way. She just," Miss Evelyn bit her lip, "well, she can't get past something that happened a long time ago. It has nothing to do with you obviously, and really, it has little to do with Daryl either," she shrugged, "not directly anyway, but she still blames him nonetheless."

Feeling even more confused now than she was before, Carol slowly shook her head.

"I, I," she started to stammer a bit, "I don't understand. If what she's upset about doesn't really have anything to do with Daryl, then why would she blame him for this," her nose wrinkled, "whatever it is?"

For a moment Miss Evelyn just stared over at her, before she finally picked one of the just filled glasses of cold tea. The ice cubes rattled around.

She took a drink.

Then she let out a sigh, and a murmur of, "I guess it's best you know," before she began telling Carol a story. It was about something that had happened decades ago, involving Miss Roberta.

And Daryl's mother.

It had all started back in the spring of 1967. That was the year that Roberta and Evelyn, who had met at Wesleyan, had graduated with their undergraduate degrees in, respectively, Classical Literature and Social Work. They'd each minored in Education, with the hopes of spending at least a few years teaching in underserved areas, before moving on to their bigger careers.

The bigger careers never happened though.

Because within five months, they'd ended up moving from their little apartment in Macon, up to the big yellow house in Blackburn. They'd bought it, and the two plots of land surrounding it, with a small inheritance that Roberta had received from her grandmother, who had died the year before. And they'd ended up in Blackburn specifically, because being technically part of the Appalachians, it had fallen into the "underserved" category of educational black holes. The problem there being not so much the poverty . . . even then Blackburn was more working class than dirt poor . . . but that very few teachers would consider even a temporary move to an area so remote and disconnected from the outside world.

These were the exact qualities which had enticed the women to move north.

And early that fall, when they'd first arrived in town to start teaching at the elementary school, everyone they met had just assumed they were "roommates." And knowing that this was not the safe place their feminist, hippy, liberal arts campus had been, they had immediately decided it was best not to advertise their romantic relationship. It wasn't lying really, Miss Evelyn explained, a bit awkwardly, they just didn't mention it. And that wasn't a time when people would EVER ask directly about such a thing, so they simply refrained from holding hands in public . . . kissing in public would never have occurred to them back then, because it wasn't safe anywhere in the south for an interracial couple . . . so that was about all they did in the way of changing their general behavior. Basically they just did what they had to fit in.

That's what everyone did, really.

So some months passed with them teaching the little ones during the week, regularly attending the local Baptist church on Sunday mornings, and on both weekend days, bringing free meals around to the old folks in town. And once they'd proved themselves to be "decent folk," it didn't take long then for southern hospitality to kick in. That's when they started to get more smiles on the street and invitations from the older women at church who wanted them to date their sons. To avoid starting up any rumors, Miss Evelyn said usually they'd just go out on one "double date" (with the boys not really understanding who was dating who) and from there, would politely find a thousand reasons to avoid spending time with those boys ever again. It was just the way things were back then in the small towns.

It was how you got by.

And overall . . . Miss Evelyn explained with a somewhat wistful smile . . . they were getting by pretty well. That was until they met Laurel Dixon.

And Roberta fell in love.

Apparently seeing Carol's jaw drop (she actually almost dropped her glass of sweet tea too) Miss Evelyn paused for a second to give her a slow nod.

"Yes, Roberta was in love with Daryl's mother," her lip quirked up in a faint, wry, smile, "but I'll admit, she was sweet, and she was gorgeous. Perfect figure, perfect skin, long chestnut curls, stormy blue eyes and beautiful cheekbones."

"Oh," Carol's eyes widened at hearing some of the notable similarities in facial features from mother to son, "so Daryl looks like his mother? Is _that_ why Miss Roberta dislikes him so much?"

For just a second, she thought she had it . . . but then Miss Evelyn shook her head. Okay, so apparently she didn't have it.

Damn.

"No," Evelyn tapped her finger on the rim of the glass, "that's not it. I mean," she tipped her head, "it probably hasn't _helped_ , and honestly," she rolled her eyes, "though I'm not proud of it, his notable resemblance to Laurel is a large part of the reason I've had my difficulties with him. Even when he was a small child, every time I saw that boy, it reminded me of a very dark period of my life, and I knew that wasn't his fault, but I couldn't help the way I felt. So," she bit her lip, "I've never extended any kindness towards him, even though he's never really done anything wrong. I mean," she jiggled her head, "I know he's had some issues with the law, but with Laurel dying and being stuck with Merle and Buck to raise him, that was understandable. Inevitable, probably. He was never a bad kid though, not like his brother." She shot Carol a look then as her mouth twisted with disgust, "Merle's a real piece of work, you should know that."

"I do know that," Carol answered with faint nod, "Daryl told me that he's um," her nose wrinkled, "well, he called him a son of a bitch."

"Yeah," Miss Evelyn snorted, "that he is, and he got that from his daddy. Which," she waved her hand a bit, "leads back specifically to Roberta's issue with Daryl. Because you see, Roberta had seen the marks on Laurel, and after some weeks of them spending time together," a bit of faint, lingering, bitterness crept into Evelyn's tone, "she finally got her to confide about Buck's abuse. Which," she sighed, "was of course terrible, and I did not wish for her to be suffering that way. But I knew that her sharing that secret was becoming a bonding point for them long before Roberta's feelings deepened into something beyond friendship. That's when she stopped telling me the substance of their conversations. And Roberta and I had always told each other everything, so that's when I knew I was losing her."

"I'm sorry," Carol cut in with a wave of her hand, "not to interrupt, but was Daryl's mother gay? Were she and Miss Roberta really," she tried to pick a delicate term, "involved?"

Miss Evelyn tipped her head.

"Yes, and no. Roberta told me later that their physical interactions never progressed beyond handholding, but they were without a doubt involved emotionally. And I know that was not just on Roberta's side. I could see in how Laurel looked at her even in church, that there were real feelings there even if Laurel maybe didn't quite understand them herself. I think," Evelyn bit her lip, "she was bisexual, but that wasn't something that a backwoods girl from Georgia, already married with a young son, would ever entertain the idea of actually being. She might not have even known what that was. Because honestly, being attracted to both men and women, was probably considered by most in this area to be even more of a deviance, as the word was used then, than just simply being gay. But whatever she was or wasn't," Evelyn huffed, "she was stealing my girlfriend's heart, and I hated her for it because she was ruining everything that we were building. Not just our relationship, but just this whole life we had been putting together here." Her lips pursed then, "it was a very bad time."

For a moment she was quiet, just staring down at the edge of the wooden table. And Carol gave her that moment to collect her thoughts before finally making a quiet prompt.

"So what happened in the end?"

"Well," Evelyn's eyes started to water, "in the _end_ , Roberta and I worked everything out and went on with our lives together, with our relationship probably a lot stronger for making it through the turmoil. But in the _middle_ ," she tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes, "everything went absolutely to hell, in ways that you can't even imagine. It was in April of sixty-eight, that it all came to a head. Buck lost his whole paycheck on a poker hand, and with nobody to blame for that but himself, he took it out on Laurel." Evelyn's lips pursed as she thought back, "it really was a horribly vicious beating. He hit her with the belt, blackened both of her eyes, busted her lip, bruised two of her ribs, and when all that was done," she swallowed, "he raped her."

Feeling her eyes start to tear up, Carol winced in sympathy for this woman she had never known, but who she shared so much pain in common with. Because she knew what that was like to tell your husband no, and have him not give a crap either way. Fortunately it had only happened to her maybe a half dozen times, but that was just because as the years passed, the more Ed drank, the less he could get it up. Of course when he couldn't get it up, he'd get so pissed off that he'd end up smacking her around even more. But clearly she'd take the black eye over the non-consensual sex with her pig of a husband, every damn day of the year.

Which was about how the numbers worked out.

She could see though, how this conversation was stirring up some things for Miss Evelyn too . . . though probably for very different reasons. Either way though, she gave her another moment to pick through her thoughts and memories. And after a few more seconds, the older woman began speaking again without any other prompting.

So Carol leaned closer.

"There wasn't any place for her to go," Miss Evelyn continued softly, with her fingertips running along the edge of the table top, "because at the time the closest thing resembling a real protective shelter, probably would've been in Atlanta. But even with that," she shook her head sadly, "the laws weren't designed to protect _wives_. Things that happened in a marriage were considered private business. And it was probably another two decades before spousal rape was even acknowledged as a real thing. So basically," her tone began to harden, "in 1969, a husband could do any damn thing he wanted to, to his wife, short of actually _killing_ her, without any consequence of any kind. So Laurel didn't even try the police, even though she was bleeding from everywhere. She just waited until Buck passed out drunk, then she called Roberta. And when Roberta got the call from Laurel that girl was sobbing and begging for help, promising that time she really was going to leave him. So _my_ girl," Miss Evelyn sighed, "she went and got her, and brought her back to our place. In a way it was the smartest move. Buck didn't attend church or do anything civic minded, so he didn't know us from Eve. And Laurel had never been here before, so all in all, even if he went looking for her around town, there was little chance of him trying to find her here. Still though," her lips pursed, "smart or not, I was furious with Roberta for making that decision without clearing it with me first. But then at the same time, I was also ashamed of myself for _being_ furious at her. Because we obviously couldn't leave Laurel there with that monster. No part of me wanted that for her. But no part of me wanted her here in my damn house either," her attention shifted over to Carol then, as her mouth twisted in a sad, wry tinged, smile, "it was complicated."

"Yeah," Carol's lip quirked up sympathy, "I'll bet."

Really, she couldn't even imagine how awkward that situation would have been, having to take in, and take _care_ of, the woman that your spouse was falling in love with. Even if the other two weren't physically involved, as Roberta said they weren't, the emotional cheating would have been devastating to deal with, if Evelyn was really in love with Roberta. And hearing that residual pain even now her voice as she continued on, telling her about the three long weeks that Laurel stayed there with them hiding in secret, healing up, and making her plans to leave town, Carol had no doubts whatsoever that woman had been completely heartbroken at the whole mess. Though her tone did begin to lighten up again when she started to explain how the departure plans began to firm up. Apparently they were able to track down a friend who'd gotten out of Blackburn, and moved up to St. Louis. And after a few pleading calls, the girl agreed that if Laurel could get herself there, she could stay with her.

That was when Evelyn stopped again, but that time Carol couldn't figure out why. And she was just about to ask what happened next, when Evelyn reached over and touched her hand.

"The day after Roberta got her the ticket for the bus she was going to take that Friday night," she continued on a whisper, "Laurel missed her period. And with all three of us assuming that it was a complication from the beating, the next day we got up before dawn and smuggled her out of town in the backseat of our little VW bug, under a pile of blankets. We got her down to a clinic we knew in Macon. And that's when we found out she was pregnant."

"Oh my God," Carol gasped, "so Daryl was the product of that rape?"

"The timing was just right for it," Evelyn bit her lip, "but Laurel tried to convince herself it wasn't. That it had to have happened on a different day, even though she couldn't remember the last time they'd had sex before that. And everyone and their momma knew that Buck had been off whoring around with Pretty Kitty Thompson for half that month, so it didn't seem likely he would've even been around for them to get together. But still," Evelyn sighed, "Laurel couldn't accept that baby could've come out of such an ugly thing. So even though I knew of a doctor who could take care of it for her, she wouldn't listen. She said it would've been a sin to do away with it. So all of her plans to get away and start over . . . they just fell apart. Because it was one thing to up and run off all on her own and hope to get by, but she couldn't do that with a baby. And she'd already been torn up about leaving Merle, even though she knew his daddy would've chased her to the ends of the earth if she'd taken his boy. And being a religious girl, she saw the new baby as a sign from God that she was supposed to keep her family together no matter what. So the next day she went back to Buck, and the following January, Daryl was born."

Carol closed her eyes.

"Oh my God," she murmured, "that is," she shook her head, "that is, I don't even have words for that." Then she took a breath before looking over at Miss Evelyn again.

"So Roberta blames Daryl for Laurel going back to her husband?" She asked incredulously.

"Essentially," Evelyn sighed, "yes. I know it doesn't make sense to you, but she just never got past that event. Because after Laurel had Daryl, she kind of lost herself. I'd see her out with him and it was obvious how much she loved that little boy, but he was also kind of the last nail in her coffin. She'd stopped dreaming of getting away from Buck and starting over. And that's when she started drinking. It got worse and worse over the coming years, until you could smell it on her even in church. And then finally when Daryl was around seven or so, she ended up burning herself up in that awful fire."

Carol's hand flew up to her mouth.

"Oh," she gasped, "I didn't know that's how she'd died! That's so awful!"

God, poor Daryl!

"Oh it was terrible," Evelyn's brow twitched, "drunk with a cigarette. And that was kind of the last act of what set things in stone for Roberta. She just hardened her heart completely to that whole family. She blamed all of them equally for what happened, even though Buck was the only real villain in that story."

"And Daryl doesn't know about _any_ of this?" Carol cut in incredulously, but Miss Evelyn simply shook her head.

"No, well," she tipped her had, "he obviously knows about the fire, and I'm sure he's aware his momma had a drinking problem. He was old enough to pick up on that. But short of me or Roberta telling him all the things that happened that spring, there's no way he could know that Laurel ever tried to leave," her lips pursed, "or why she went back."

They were both silent for a moment, but then Carol took a breath and leaned over.

She had her hands pressed together.

"Please don't ever tell him," she begged the older woman, "it would break his heart. I know it would."

Just from the little bit he'd mentioned about his mother when they were in the city, she knew how upset he was over the abuse she'd suffered. So it would kill him to know that she'd almost gotten away.

And that she'd only gone back because of him.

And she could see from the heavy sigh that Miss Evelyn let out, that she agreed.

"No," Evelyn shook her head, "no I promise I have no intention of ever telling him that story." Her jaw clenched, "it would destroy him. And even as bitter as she is, I think Roberta knows that too, because to her small credit in this area, she's never thrown it in his face."

Feeling a spark of anger cut into her sadness and anxiety over this terrible shadow on Daryl's life, Carol's brow darkened.

"With respect ma'am, but now knowing everything you just told me, I just can't believe that Miss Roberta _is_ so hateful towards him. It's not his fault how he came into the world. And it's not his fault that his mother chose to go back to her husband. If Laurel was already conflicted about leaving Merle, then odds were probably even that she would've gone back anyway."

"I know child," Miss Evelyn answered gently, "I know. It's not logical. But Roberta had so much anger and hurt in her from a broken heart, that she just couldn't see any of it rationally. It took us a lot of years to get our relationship back to where we were with our trust and stability, and then Laurel's death, how pointless and tragic it was, it put us into another tailspin. I'd hoped the whole thing would just die completely with Buck, but like I said, Daryl looks so much like his momma, and this is such a small town, it's hard to separate the present from the past." Her lips pursed, "even when the past should just be left to rot."

Feeling a small stab of fear in her stomach, Carol looked around worriedly, like Miss Roberta was suddenly going to show up. Then her eyes darted back to Miss Evelyn's.

She leaned in close.

"Do you think with him being around here to see me," she asked softly, "that's going to upset her enough to tell him about the rape?"

Because if it was, she would NOT have him hurt like that on her account. So if it came down to it, she'd just tell him not to come over. She'd just meet him on the corner.

Anything to keep him from that horrible truth.

It was a worry that Carol wasn't sure she'd be able to push off, but then she saw Miss Evelyn shaking her head, right before her brow darkened.

"No," she whispered tightly while reaching out to pick up her glass of cold tea, "no, I don't think my girl has it in her to be that cruel. I think she'll take that secret to her grave, just as I'd planned to before I met you. But I could see last night in how Daryl looked at you, that he was smitten, and I knew that meant he was going to be coming around for however long you were here. And given the tension with Roberta, I thought you should know why maybe it would be best if we could just keep them from bumping heads."

She took a quick sip, and while she was watching her swallow it down, Carol pressed her fist into her stomach.

"Are you saying I should tell him to stay away?" She asked worriedly, thinking she needed to now call him RIGHT this second, before he showed up!

But then Miss Evelyn's eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh no child," she quickly shook her head, "I'm not saying that at all. As long as you're here," she put the glass back on the tray, "that boy can come and go as he pleases. And I made that clear to Roberta too. But I still need to find a way to get her to stop associating him with the past, because until then, the whole mess is going to keep being a thorn in everyone's side."

Carol bit her lip.

"Understood. So if it's all right for him to come and go, do you um," she winced slightly, "well, do you have any problem with him coming into my room? I mean not to," she cleared her throat, " _do_ anything, just to visit."

Miss Evelyn smiled.

"That's fine, Carol. And," she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "you two can even _do_ things if you want to." A small chuckle escaped as she leaned back in her chair, "you're a big girl and I am not the sex police."

Feeling a hot flush rising up her face, Carol had to drop her eyes to the table for a second.

"I know, I just uh," she swallowed down a small bit of her embarrassment before looking back up, "I wanted to be respectful of the boundaries you're setting. It being your roof and all."

Even at forty-three this conversation was SO awkward! It felt like discussing her sex life with her mother!

And her mother had been dead for twenty-four years!

Besides that though, she and Daryl weren't even kissing yet, let alone having sex. And given how recently she'd left Ed, it might be some weeks before she'd feel comfortable taking that latter step.

Which was why Miss Evelyn's knowing little smile right now, was kind of FREAKING her out!

Fortunately though, the woman seemed to take pity on her about then. Because her expression softened as she reached over to squeeze Carol's hand.

"I appreciate that," she said quietly, "you're a nice kid, Carol. I like you quite a bit. And," she gave a slow nod, "because I like you quite a bit, and because I know how bad a time you've been through, I have a present for you," her lip quirked up, "you guys can have the whole house to yourselves tonight."

"Oh," Carol's eyes widened, "Miss Evelyn, that's so . . . really?"

It was kind of hard to believe that anyone could be THAT nice, that she'd give up her own house for them, but then Miss Evelyn started to explain that she'd already planned out a surprise date night for her and Roberta. A fancy dinner, a double feature at the little dollar theater downtown, and then they were capping the night off with drinks and a visit to see a local band. Apparently the band was the reason for the date. They only passed through the area once every few months.

And they were Roberta's favorite.

For some reason hearing that really touched Carol. That they could go through all that strife and uncertainty, and still be so happy together forty years later, that Evelyn would plan a night like that, just to make her girlfriend happy. That was the kind of relationship that Carol had always wanted to have.

Instead she'd ended up with Ed.

But then she reminded herself that Ed was the past . . . and she had Daryl now. Yes, their relationship was new, and obviously it would be ridiculous to assume today, that they'd still be together forty years from now to have fancy little date nights . . . but they might be.

Anything was possible.

Because really just a week ago, she would never have been able to imagine even _finding_ a man like him . . . let alone BEING with a man like him. So, yeah . . . her expression softened . . . anything _was_ possible.

She just needed to be open to it.

So when she heard Miss Evelyn adding offhand, as she slowly pushed back her chair, that for what it was worth, Miss Roberta had meant no harm with her comments last night. That she'd just truly believed that she'd been doing the right thing, in trying to warn her off a bad situation, Carol felt her defenses rise up again. Because Daryl was _not_ a bad situation. He was the best thing to come into her life since her baby had been born.

And that was the end of the discussion.

So though she didn't want it to seem like she was looking for another fight . . . especially after how kind Miss Evelyn was being to them, giving them the house . . . she found herself leaning in, with a clenched jaw and a fresh knot in her stomach.

The pain was clear in her voice.

" _Please_ Miss Evelyn," she pleaded, "I know you mean well in trying to explain her reasoning, but," she pressed her fist against her chest, "it hurts me to hear you speak ill of him. Because even if it's just by proxy, the words still are what they are," her voice thickened, "and they are not kind."

And she saw Miss Evelyn's eyes once more widen in surprise, right before her face twisted with regret.

"I'm sorry," she shook her head, "you're absolutely right. It was unkind to repeat that to you, because I know I wouldn't appreciate it if someone repeated an insult about Roberta, back to me. And please know," her expression softened, "it was after I saw how he was with you and your daughter, that it became very clear to me just how sweet Daryl actually is. I'd seen little sparks of that before, over the years, but I'd always make myself ignore them because I didn't want him to be," Evelyn's eyes started to get moist, "good. Because if he was good, then all these years that I'd been wasting treating him unkindly, well," her voice cracked, "then that was on me."

For a second she paused to collect her thoughts. But after blinking away the moisture in her eyes, and clearing the lump from her throat, she began again.

"Something happened last fall," she continued softly, "which finally made me accept that it had been me all this time. Because one day, just before Thanksgiving, I saw Daryl and Merle at the Piggly Wiggly. The place was busy with holiday shoppers coming and going, and I was waiting out front in the wagon, while Roberta was inside picking up a bulk order we'd already put in earlier. And that's when I saw Daryl and Merle walking out carrying their bags. And right behind them there was Mr. Stevenson. He's about eighty-five and lives alone, but he doesn't take any assistance from us. He prides himself on staying self reliant, even though he's got the scoliosis and he's just a weak, little hunched over, stick figure man, now. But anyway," Evelyn sighed, "Mr. Stevenson, he was trying to carry his bags out himself like the Dixon boys were, but at his age they were too much for him, and he ended up dropping all but one. I mean, his groceries rolled out everywhere. Even out into the parking lot. And I was about to get out of the car to go help him, when I saw Daryl turn back. And that boy," Miss Evelyn's mouth curved then in a soft smile, "he ran over and started picking everything up, and tucking it back into the bags. And when he saw the milk jug was leaking, he waited until Mr. Stevenson was distracted grabbing up a loose apple, and that's when Daryl switched out the jug leaking on the ground, for the one he'd just bought for himself. Then he tucked the bad one behind a shopping cart. Mr. Stevenson never even noticed. And you know what Merle did during all that?" Miss Evelyn's expression hardened. "He got in their truck, drove off, and left his brother there with the other half of their groceries and no way to get home."

Seeing the wince on Carol's face, Evelyn nodded.

"Yes, and that's exactly what their daddy would have done too. And that's when I finally accepted just how much better Daryl was, than the others. And I was ashamed of myself in how I'd treated him. So ever since then I've been trying to making more of an effort to be nice," she huffed, "I think maybe that's been a little confusing for him though, because I could see even last night he wasn't sure what to make of me asking him to stay for cookies. But if you want to tell him this story," her lip quirked up, "that might help him a little."

"Yeah," Carol gave a slow nod, "I will tell him. And thank you for telling me," her eyes crinkled a bit, though her smile was soft, "because that's just more of the Daryl that I already know."

It was nice though, hearing another story like that, and knowing that other people could see the same good in him that she did. Because she was starting to feel like he was sort of hers.

And she was proud of him.

So as Miss Evelyn came to her feet, Carol came up right along with her. And she thanked her again for the stories that she'd told, and the insight that she'd given.

And for being kind to her Daryl.

The last one, she hadn't intended for it to come out in the possessive . . . but it did. And she could see how Miss Evelyn's expression softened, right before she leaned over to give her a hug.

"I think it's very nice you two are spending time together," she whispered, "you do seem to be a good fit."

That was all she said, before she patted Carol's back, and turned to start across the lawn. Carol watched her go until she reached the door. Then the other woman paused for a moment to call back over her shoulder, "we'll be leaving about three-thirty, back around ten."

After that . . . she continued on into the house.

For a moment Carol just stood there, staring at the closed door. Then she turned to pick up her barely touched glass of tea.

She swallowed down the rest in one, long, messy, gulp.

It was as she was wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, and blinking the tears from her eyes . . . because that was a HELL of a lot to take in all in one sitting(!) . . . that she heard the latch on the gate. Her gaze darted across the lawn, to the other side of the yard, just in time to see Daryl stepping out onto the grass.

And feeling a wave of need for that man, she fumbled to put down the glass without breaking it.

Then she took off running.

They ended up meeting around halfway, just before the herb garden . . . she crashed right into him. And as she slipped her arms around his waist, she choked out against his chest, "I'm so glad to see you!"

With all of the jumbled thoughts and feelings that were racing through her brain, Carol was amazed she got that much out without actually bursting into tears. Either way though, the emotion clearly bled through in her voice.

And it obviously touched Daryl.

Because she could feel how his breath caught then, right before he pulled her into his arms.

"You're gonna make me lose my composure, woman," he murmured, taking in that smell of milk and honey, clinging to her skin.

"I'm sorry, hon," she whispered back, "but I'm just being honest. You've been on my mind all day, and non-stop for the last hour."

 _Good God was that last one the truth!_

"Yeah," Daryl let out a heavy sigh as he let his eyes fall shut, "I could say about the same about you, sweetheart."

In fact she'd stayed on his mind for that whole last leg of the journey back home. It had been the driving force in getting him there. And feeling that way was a bit of an adjustment for him, because you didn't do that in the Dixon house.

Need people, that is.

And you certainly didn't need a woman. At least not the sweet kind that looked after you, and worried about you staying safe and well. It'd been more years than he wanted to count, since he'd had one of those.

He'd forgot how nice it was.

And after a little while of feeling Carol's warm breath on his neck, and her hand rubbing those circles on his back, he started actually feelin' better again about the day. Less stressed for sure. And then she murmured against his throat, "I wish we could do this every day," and he felt something else.

He felt happy.

Really and truly, like he imagined other people did, but he'd never really felt much himself. So he tipped his head down, and pressed his lips to her ear.

"If you book the time, I'll show up."

And he could hear her faint huff, right before she tipped her head back slightly to catch his eyes.

"We can try," she answered with a faint smile, "we can absolutely try. But I actually do have some concrete, good news to share."

"Yeah," his eyebrow inched up with a bit of amusement, "what's that?"

Her eyes crinkled.

"Miss Evelyn's taking Miss Roberta out on a date night. Specifically," and then she started tapping out the activities on his chest, "she said fancy dinner over in Madison Falls, then back to Blackburn for a Katherine Hepburn double feature at the dollar theater, before they finish things up with a drink and a band at the road house. They won't be home until about ten. And she said as long as they were going to be out, we could have the place to ourselves. _Soooo_ ," her mouth quivered, "this is me inviting you to spend the evening with me and Sophia."

The corner of Daryl's lip quirked up.

"Well then, this is me acceptin' that invitation. And with the biddies gone that long," he leaned down to nuzzle her ear, "you and I might even have time for grown up talk."

Feeling the tickle of Daryl's warm breath hitting her skin, caused a shiver to run down Carol's spine, as her nails dug into his back. An action which caused him to let out a faint huff.

"That still ain't code for burnin' down the mansion, sweetheart."

"I know," she gave a sheepish chuckle, while dipping her head down to hide her face against his chest, "but you still just get me flustered." Then, feeling slightly emboldened by the amount of affection he was showing her . . . they were still going slow, but his touch felt more intimate than before . . . she leaned back to give him a little smirk.

"I think you're just going to be too much man for me."

"You stop!" he snorted, while quickly turning away to hide his smile. And when he looked back, though his lips were still curved, his eyes were soft.

"You do have a knack for turnin' around a bad day," he whispered.

"Well," she reached up touch his cheek, "I can say the same for you. Because you are the only reason I was able to get to sleep last night. So if we just keep helping each other the best we can, and," she nodded slowly, "I think we could be happy enough."

"Mmm," he murmured, his mood sobering as his attention drifted over her shoulder, "is that what we're aimin' for here?" His eyes shot back down to hers. "Happy enough?"

For his part, he was hopin' that maybe she'd want a little more than that. Or at least that she'd believe they were _capable_ than a little more than that.

Otherwise what were they even doin'?

Seeing that Daryl seemed a little hurt by her comment, and she wasn't quite sure why, Carol reached up to brush her fingers along his collarbone.

"I'm sorry, hon," she whispered as her hand stilled, "but I didn't mean anything negative by that." She reached over to tangle her fingers up with his, "why does it bother you?"

"It _bothers_ me," he let out a faint sigh as his other hand pressed out flat against her back, "because being with you right at this moment, it makes me happy, Carol," his jaw clenched, "not happy _enough_. Just happy. But you say it that other way, and it makes it seem like less. You know what I mean?"

For some reason Daryl's words unexpectedly cut into something deep inside Carol. And it caused such a pain, that suddenly she was on the verge of crying. And not even really fully understanding where that pain was coming from, she closed her eyes for a second to give it some thought. But when she looked up at him again, she found those tears were burning.

It'd be a miracle if she got through this conversation without crying.

"I didn't mean it to sound like less," she murmured, "I didn't mean that at all. And right now," she bit her lip, "I'm just happy too. But the problem, is that I have to keep reminding myself again and again that my old life isn't this new one. Because in my old life, Sophia was all I had, and even with as much as I love that little girl," her eyes started to fill, "I wasn't happy. Not for all those years. Even the day she was born, all of the excitement and joy that I felt when I first held her, it was immediately tempered by these feelings of terror and anxiety. Because I knew the kind of life I was bringing her into, and I wondered maybe," her voice broke, "for just a second, if I'd made a mistake in having her. And I felt horrible thinking that," she sniffled, "and even worse for saying it now, but every good moment we ever had," the tears started to slide down her face, "Ed just spoiled it. He was either there, or he was going to be there soon, and one of us was always covered in bruises. He was just this dark cloud that clung to everything decent. So," she swallowed, "what I'm trying to say is, that happy enough, was meant as a good thing, because that would be more than I've been in over a decade. But," she gave him a sad, watery smile, "I am going to try to just be happy and stop worrying about Ed ruining things like before," her voice cracked, "it just might take me a little time, is all."

For a moment Daryl just looked at her, then he bit his lip and leaned down to press his lips to her ear.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmured, "so you take all the time you need, sweetheart. And you tell me if those thoughts about him coming back are creepin' on you, and we'll work it out together, okay?"

"Yeah," she sniffled against his chest, "okay."

And so he gave her a minute to pull herself together again. And during that minute, he just held her close, and rubbed those same circles on her back, that she'd done on his. But then finally he felt Carol take a deep breath, right before she murmured.

"I'm all right now."

So he tipped his head back and looked down to see her peeking up at him. Her eyes were still a little glassy, but she didn't look so sad.

And he did hate when she was sad.

"Sorry that I got a little worked up there," she said softly, "I guess it's been building but, uh," she nodded while giving a swipe at the corner of her eye, "I feel better for talking about it."

"Yeah well," he bit his lip, "I'm glad for that, but there ain't nothing for you to be sorry for." Then he tipped his head down, and pressed his forehead against hers.

For a moment he just stared into her eyes . . . and then he whispered, "I'm gonna break that man's neck if it's the last thing I do. I promise you that."

And she sucked in a breath, and closed her eyes.

"If you want to go after him, I won't ask you not to." Her lashes slowly opened, "because I am terrified he's going to come after us, and someone's going to end up dead then anyway." Carol tipped her head back then so she could touch Daryl's cheek . . . there was a faint bit of stubble already forming.

She brushed her thumb along it.

"I just ask you to leave it for now," she continued softly, "I know you can handle him, but I don't want you going anywhere near that close to the city. Not for any reason."

His lip quirked up then . . . though his eyes were sad.

"I'm not leaving you two alone here, sweetheart," he gave a firm nod, "I promise you that too. But I will handle him as soon as it's safe to do so."

Then he pulled her back to his chest, and tipped his head down to rest against hers. And after another minute or so of them just holding each other in the middle of that garden, she breathed out against his skin.

"I'm going to make you a _huge_ dinner tonight."

And she felt him chuckle against her temple.

"Yeah," he tipped his head back slightly to look down, "what are you gonna make? Keepin' in mind I can't cook much besides hot water, so I probably won't be very helpful before the dish washin' stage."

Hearing Carol's soft laughter at that, made Daryl smile. And then he saw her biting down on her lip, and he had to shift his attention away for a second, because that was just a little too distractin'. Her lips that is. But he knew it was too early to make that move.

He didn't wanna rush her down steps she wasn't ready to take yet.

But then he felt her tapping her fingers against his chest again, and he looked back. Because for some reason he really liked when she did that. Maybe because the action had a proprietary feel to it, like she was claimin' him.

And he was A-okay on that one.

"How about . . ."

When she started speaking, his eyes shot down to watch her fingertips working out the menu . . . one tap at a time.

". . . chicken fried chicken," she continued with another tap, "mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits, fresh peas from the garden, and a blackberry cobbler?"

His eyebrows shot up so high, they almost hit his hairline.

"Woman, are you _tryin'_ to seduce me?"

She burst out laughing.

"Not _today_ ," she giggled, "but I'll remember that menu for future reference." Then, with a faint smile still on her lips, her eyebrow inched up hopefully.

"So, I guess that means everything sounds good?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, "no argument from me. But do you have all that? Or you need me to go to the store?"

"Um," she started chewing on her lip, "those are all pretty basic ingredients, and between the extra freezers and the two walk in pantries, the ladies have a stockpile of those, so I think we should have everything. But," her nose scrunched up, "maybe we should get our own chicken. Because that costs a little more than flour and potatoes, and I don't want to take advantage of their hospitality. Oh," her hand pressed flat against his chest, "and one other thing," she gave a quick look around, before leaning up to whisper in his ear, "I would love a wine cooler. I've been craving one the last couple days."

"A _wine_ cooler?" Daryl repeated back with a surprised twitch of his lips, because that was the last thing he was expecting her to say she needed for dinner. But given how he'd been known, from time to time, to mix good whiskey with cheap cola, he was not one to be throwing stones at other people's drinkin' preferences.

So he just gave her a little smile and a nod.

"All right, I can definitely get you some of those when I get the chicken. You got a flavor cooler you prefer?"

And she grinned.

"Uh, huh. The strawberry kind. My neighbor Karen used to slip them to me over the fence whenever they had a barbecue. And they were so good."

Actually, by the end, just before she and Sophia left, whenever Carol would end up with a new batch of bruises, Karen had started leaving a whole little case of the coolers under one of the shrubs between their two houses. It was a kindness that Carol wasn't going to soon forget.

But it was still too sad a story to share.

"All right then," Daryl's eyes crinkled, "strawberry wine coolers it is. Say," he tipped his head back to look around the yard, "where's Sophia? Think she'd like to go for a ride."

"Oh," Carol smiled, "yeah, she'd like that. I'm sure she's feeling a little cooped up right now because I made her stay in this afternoon to do her lessons."

"Lessons?" Daryl asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Yeah," she bit her lip, "see I found out that it's too late in the season to sign her up for school, because Miss Evelyn said classes are done in two weeks. So Miss Roberta just gave me some of the old textbooks she used to use for her students, and I picked out some worksheets to keep Sophia busy. A few spelling to start, but mostly math." Then Carol's nose wrinkled as she tipped her head back to look up at Daryl.

"Math's her hardest subject, she really has to work for the B, so it does bother me, her being out of school. I just worry that losing these weeks, she might get behind the other kids."

"Well," Daryl's jaw twisted, "if you want, I could work with her some. Math is the one thing I was actually good at in school."

That coulda been because it was the only thing he thought might actually be helpful in life. The rest of it was mostly nonsense.

At least to him.

"Oh," Carol's eyes lit up, "that would be great, if you could! Really, because she gets her math skills from me, so whenever I try to help her, I always feel like I'm teaching her the wrong way, even though she's still just learning the basic stuff. God help me when she gets to Calculus and all that," she scowled, "I'm going to have to get a second job just to pay for a tutor."

"All right well," Daryl grunted as he gave a little tug on her hand, and they started towards the back door, "let's just get her through the basics, and Calculus can wait until she at least hits puberty."

Hearing Carol's faint groan of, "God, help us all when puberty hits," he had to smile. Because whether she realized or not, Carol'd just kind of implied he might still be around at that point in time.

Two to three years out.

It was a nice thought though, the idea of getting to see Sophia grow up, but it wasn't one he was going to let himself get carried away with in the short term. For now he was just gonna enjoy what they had, as long as they had it. And to that point, he was still hopeful that maybe he could get Carol to fall in love with the town, or at least the mountain area, so maybe she'd stay on up here even after she got her wits about her, and a future plan put in place. That was another thing he wasn't gonna push though. Everything in time.

That's how he lived his life.

So he followed her on into the house, and waited by the door while Carol went to collect Sophia. And when they came back about four minute later, that little girl had her faced scrubbed shiny, and a perfect little pigtail on each side of her head. His lip quirked up.

She really was adorable.

And then she was prouncin', _loudly_ , "Daryl! Mama said I can go to the store with you!" right before she crashed into his chest . . . just like her mama had.

He started to laugh.

"I know darlin'," he huffed with a gentle pat to her back, "it was my idea. We're gonna get some stuff for dinner." Then he leaned back to give her a little smile.

"You ready to go?"

And hearing her happy, "uh huh," as she bounced on her toes and clapped her hands, he felt a little spot of warmth for her in his chest.

She was weedlin' her way in there as well as her mama was.

But there was no time for those thoughts right now. The clock was going tick tock, and he knew Carol needed to do stuff to that chicken or their special dinner was not gonna be quite so special. So to get 'em out the door, he put his hands on both of Sophia's shoulders, and turned her around.

"Go give your mama a kiss."

Which she did immediately, because Lord knows that child was well behaved. And with goodbye kisses now covered, and the very short list of supplies already fresh in his head, Daryl put his hand out.

"Come on, little girl."

And she ran back to slide her fingers into his. Then they started out the door.

It was just as he was puttin' his hand on the doorknob, that he felt Carol's breasts press against his arm, right before she leaned up to smack a quick peck on his cheek.

"You forgot your kiss goodbye," she whispered as her sneakers dropped back down to the floor. And when his lips started to twitch, she shot him a wink.

"Drive safe."

/*/*/*/*/

Once Daryl and Sophia were gone, Carol started rushing around the kitchen getting as much of their dinner pulled together as she could, without the centerpiece chicken there yet to start frying. But fortunately, from scratch, mashed potatoes and biscuits both took a little time on their own, so she was able to get those prepped and going on the stove and in the oven respectively, before she went outside to gather the snap peas from the garden and the blackberries off one of the bushels around the side of the house. On the way back in, she decided to snag one of the just ripened peaches off the trees, to add into the crumble she was making.

She figured it would add in a little sweetness to counter the tartness of the blackberries.

When she was out there, she also made a mental note that she still needed to do a little more yard work, before the day was out. But Daryl would help her with that.

It would probably be more fun with him anyway.

It was just as she was stepping back inside the kitchen with the nearly forgotten tray of iced (now warm) sweet tea, and her little wire basket . . . the ladies kept a small stack of them in one of the pantries to gather their fruits and vegetables . . . that she ran into the ladies themselves, coming in to say goodbye. They were both dressed up in brightly colored sundresses, with their hair done up, dramatic makeup around their eyes, and bold colors on their lips.

They were definitely ready for an evening out.

But seeing Miss Roberta like that, Carol suddenly had a glimpse of the pretty face that had apparently been hiding under there since they'd first met. It seemed she was just one of those people who, as they got older, needed a little bit of paint to freshen them up again. Though seeing how she looked now . . . forty plus years later . . . Carol couldn't help but picture how she must have looked back in sixty-eight and sixty-nine, when that tragic little love triangle had almost torn the ladies apart.

She was probably quite the dish back then.

And for some reason, that phrase, "quite the dish," was the one that slipped right out of her mouth when she went to say how nice she looked in orange. It was funny though, her saying that . . . though it did make Miss Evelyn burst out laughing . . . it really seemed to kind of touch Miss Roberta. Because her eyes started to tear up, right before she walked over to take her hand, and tell her how sorry she was for upsetting her the night before. And that her feelings were what they were, but she promised to bite her tongue about them from now on. So there should be no worries about her and Sophia being allowed to stay.

They were welcome as long as they wanted to be there.

And Carol was so surprised that she brought all of that up right then . . . she was pretty much of the opinion they were going to pretend like the fight had never happened . . . that she started getting teary eyed TOO!

It was ridiculous.

And then Miss Evelyn cut in with, "Roberta you don't even HAVE hormones anymore, so what are you crying about?" An insult which made Carol laugh so hard, she started to choke. So it was a couple pounds on the back, and two glasses of water later, that Daryl and Sophia came in the door, to find the three women still standing in the kitchen, laughing like fools.

The laughter stilled then, but any potential awkwardness between Miss Roberta and Daryl, was immediately smoothed over by Miss Evelyn giving a tug to her girlfriend's wrist, and a, "come on sweetie, we're running late." Then both women waved over their shoulders.

And they were gone.

For a moment Carol and Daryl just looked at one another, but then she walked over to slip away the grocery bag dangling from his hand, as she leaned in to give him a quick hug, and a quiet whisper.

"She apologized."

She breathed the words out against his skin. And when she pulled away, she saw he was looking down at her in surprise. But then his lip quirked up, and she knew he was pleased by that (unexpected) turn of events.

And Carol was thinking then, as her daughter scampered off to the living room, and Carol herself turned to go put the chicken on the counter, how much she wanted to be able to tell him the stories that she'd heard that day. Not the parts that would hurt him of course . . . but the others. How once upon a time Miss Roberta had fallen in love with his mother, and that the biddies (pre-biddiness) had almost broken up because of it. And how some forty years on, on a random day just before a random Thanksgiving, that Miss Evelyn had finally been able to see him for the man he really was.

And not the man his father was.

Carol wanted to tell Daryl all of those things, because she thought those stories might please him too.

Not tonight though, she decided, while watching him pull a six pack of Budweiser, and her four pack of Bartles & Jaymes, out of the other bag. Because those stories (and the jangling emotions that came with them) were all too fresh in her head. And her heart. So she was worried that she might start to tell him about just one part of a tale . . . and inadvertently stumble into another.

Something that might cause him pain.

Tomorrow . . . she nodded to herself as she started breaking open the cellophane on the package of meat . . . or the day after. Whenever the next time they were alone together, that's when they would talk about all that stuff.

It could wait.

And in the meantime, after she'd placed the chicken into the bowl of buttermilk and seasonings, and while she was going over to wash her hands in the sink, she threw him a quick grin over her shoulder.

"Hon," she called out as she hit the faucet with her elbow, "can you break open one of those strawberry coolers for me, please?"

She saw his lip quirk up then, right before he plucked one of the bottles out from the thin cardboard box and popped the cap off. And that same look of amusement was still on his face when he walked up, and slid his arm around her waist.

She was just rinsing the last of the suds from her hands.

"There's an extra box of these in the truck," he murmured with a nuzzle of her ear, "I'm gonna leave 'em at my house in case you come visit."

The idea of spending time at Daryl's place . . . where they could have their private grown up talk, OR, potentially burn down the mansion . . . sent a faint flush along her cheeks. But once more Daryl's actions, the way he was touching her like he'd been doing it forever, were making Carol feel bolder than she would have in her old life. So rather than trying to hide her embarrassment from him, like she had been even just that past weekend, instead she shot him a quick, soft, smile. Yes, she knew the flush was still obvious there on her face, but he wouldn't make fun of that.

Of that, she was as sure as she was of her own name.

As evidence, he just reached up with his free hand, to brush his thumb along her cheek. And feeling a little tingle from that stroke of skin on skin, she let her lids fall shut. Just for a second though. Then when she opened them again, she saw that Daryl's expression had softened.

And he wasn't staring into her eyes.

But down at her lips.

It was involuntary, and mostly just nerves, but when she saw that, Carol found herself biting down on the bottom one. Which was when his gaze finally shifted back up, and he gave her a wink. Then he let his hand fall away from her cheek, before he gave her hip a gentle pat and that arm fell down too. Then he turned around, and walked over to call out down the back hall . . . where their room was . . . for Sophia to go meet him in the living room.

He told her he wanted to see her math sheets.

And really that combination of his clear desire to kiss her, that private little wink, and then him calling her daughter in so he could help her with her lessons, made Carol want to forget all about finishing dinner, and just drag the man into the closet for a quickie.

Of course she'd never do that.

But . . . the heat on her face intensified as her lip quirked up . . . it was fun to think about.

And think about it she did. She kept herself happily busy with that little fantasy, while she got the peas shelled, and the potatoes mashed.

And then the cobbler prepped.

It was a good long fantasy.

It wasn't until she was finishing off the last of her first wine cooler . . . she was limiting herself to two for the evening . . . as she started the chicken sizzling away in the fry pan, that she was finally able to move her brain over onto more G rated topics.

Specifically, how to work out a proper lesson plan for Sophia to follow over the summer months.

Because her concerns about her daughter falling behind in school, were genuine. And it wasn't that she wanted to ruin Sophia's summer with summer school, but one or two hours a day, two or three days a week . . . that wouldn't be bad. And maybe Daryl could help her with the lessons. Because it was a given, with how the larger world was spinning out into such a mess at the moment, that they would definitely be staying in Blackburn well through the summer.

Beyond that, Carol knew she'd just have to see how things went.

Yes, from what she'd seen of it so far, she could tell that Blackburn was a nice little town, with clean air, no crime and a close knit community. And those were all obviously huge checkmarks, when it came to finding a good place to settle down and raise your child. And then of course there was Daryl. With his individual relationships with both her and Sophia, becoming so important to all three of them, he was clearly another GINORMOUS checkmark, on the Blackburn Pro list.

So really the main problem with staying there, aside from how isolated they were . . . thirty plus minutes just to get back to the highway . . . was that she wasn't even sure if it would be possible to support herself and Sophia in such a small town. There probably weren't a lot of jobs there, and they didn't have any colleges. So she wouldn't be able to get that training she wanted to, to figure out a real career to support herself. Granted, that alone wasn't a deal breaker, because there were probably at least some trade or secretarial schools within a semi-reasonable driving distance. Which would probably be forty or fifty minutes on the outside. So again, it really was just going to come down to whether or not she was suited to long term, country living.

 _That_ was the deal breaker.

But as she finished plucking the last pieces of chicken out of the frying pan, Carol knew that time would tell on that point. And fortunately she was going to have at least a good four months worth of time to figure that one out.

So as she finished pulling together the final steps of their special dinner, she put those other thoughts out of her mind. The only one that was relevant for the moment was the lesson plan thing, and she could talk to Daryl about that after Sophia went to bed.

And once she had the table set for three, and had put one of Daryl's beers down on the table for him, she walked over to the door and leaned out into the front hall.

From down the other end, down in the living room, she could hear Daryl and Sophia talking through her worksheets. So Carol stopped to listen for a minute to see how that was going. It seemed like he'd found a couple of errors, so he was re-explaining the dividing steps, by the two of them sorting through the change in his pocket.

Carol could even hear it clinking and sliding around the coffee table.

And not wanting to interrupt if he was on a good roll with her daughter, Carol waited until he got to the last step, where he told Sophia she had to figure out how many dimes she could get out of five quarters. And that she could keep the remainder for herself, if she could figure out how much that was. Given her daughter had never really had any spending money, that sounded like a pretty good motivation to Carol.

Sophia must have agreed.

Because from there, Carol heard a little bit more clinking and sliding before there was a pause, then Daryl let out a whoop and a, "good job darlin'!"

Yeah, it seemed like that motivator worked quite well. And her daughter was actually learning something. So Carol found herself with a happy heart, as she put her hand on the smooth green paint covering the wall. Then she leaned out to call down to the living room.

"Come on mathletes, dinner's ready!"

/*/*/*/*/

"Crap, crap, crap."

Daryl was muttering over and over to himself as he slammed the door shut, and jammed the key into the Ford's ignition.

He was running so late.

Last night when he and Carol were doing some platonic canoodlin' on the couch, he'd mentioned how he'd run into a high school buddy of his, Jack Applebaum, when he was out picking up the chicken. Jack and his wife Theresa had a small farm on the outskirts of town, and he'd asked Daryl to come and help him break out a new horse paddock.

They'd had a foal born the week before.

And so since he'd gotten back to the yellow house, Daryl had been thinkin' maybe Sophia'd wanna come out and see the baby horse, and maybe feed a few other barnyard animals besides the biddies' backyard chickens. When he mentioned the idea to Carol, she'd thought that it sounded great. But she was even more tickled pink to find out the mama and daddy horses were called Wesley and Buttercup. That was a bit of a mystery to him, her excitement that is, but she said it was from a movie, and he'd probably think the plot was silly, so they left it at that. But on the horse front, Carol was worried it was a bit too early for her to take a whole afternoon off from helping out with her new chores. She still wanted Sophia to go though.

She said that girl deserved to have some fun.

So he'd told Carol that he'd pick Sophia up after he'd finished up the gutters at the Masons. And with him starting in on that job at eight-thirty, (the earliest they wanted any ladders clanging about) he'd thought for sure he'd be done no later than eleven. But then Mrs. Loretta had pointed out a rotted step she'd found off the back porch. And he couldn't very well leave that job for another day.

One of them might've tripped and broken their necks.

And it wasn't even the damn board replacement which really had held him up, it was the BEES he'd found when he was in the process of doin' the replacing! It was a tiny little hive just gettin' started under the porch. And that was another thing he couldn't just leave there. Which meant he'd had to stop what he was doing to go off and get his long gloves, and the bee smoker out of the garage. So basically by the time he'd gotten the hive moved off into the woods, and all the floor boards had been nailed back in, that he'd had to pull out, it'd been well after twelve. Still though, Mrs. Loretta had INSISTED he stay and eat the ham sandwich and glass of sweet tea she'd made for him. Not that he hadn't appreciated the lunch, but he'd already been running late for the Applebaums . . . he'd told Jack, "early afternoon" . . . and the extra delay to eat, had just knocked him COMPLETELY off his schedule.

But it wasn't until Mrs. Loretta had tried to make him stay for a second slice of chocolate cake, (the first one had not been negotiable) that he'd finally given a wave and promised her he'd stay for a bit next time he was over. That he had to run to another job now.

Mister Charles was shoving the three twenties into his hand, as he rushin' out the door.

Which was why he was now barrelin' across town in the Ford, already four minutes late for picking up Sophia. Not that he'd _promised_ Carol he'd be there for her at twelve thirty, but he had _said_ , he'd be there for her by then. So it was bothering him that he wasn't. And that's 'cuz he'd figured he was kind of setting a standard here. So he'd wanted to be on time. Just so Carol and Sophia would know he could be counted on.

That was important to him.

But he also knew there was no point in beatin' himself up about it either. Four minutes . . . he gave another quick glance at his watch . . . now six minutes, wasn't the end of the world. And that was as late as he was gonna be.

Because he was just now pulling up out in front of the big yellow house.

And it was only about thirty seconds after that, he was around back, knocking on the heavy wood farm door. Carol had said she was going to be spending most of her time in either the kitchen or the garden, so to cut down on run-ins with Miss Roberta, he should avoid the front door as much as possible

Her logic was sound to him.

So as he was expectin', about ten seconds after he'd knocked on that door, it was Carol who was opening it up. And seeing the way her face lit up when she did, gave him a spot of warmth down in his belly.

God was he fallin' hard for that woman.

"Hey," she whispered with a smile, "just on time."

And he could've kissed her for that. But then she was pushing the door back so he could step inside. And when he did, he slipped his arm around her waist, and murmured, "hey sweetheart." Then he brushed his thumb along her cheek and added with a little crinkling of his eyes, "see you got some color today. Looks good."

It was true, she did look particularly good to him that day. Though he wasn't sure if it was just that he liked her in yellow, he liked her with a tan, or he just liked her period. Because each day that passed, he was feeling more and more in the way of warmth and affection for the woman by his side. And he was just about to pull her into a hug to express a little of that affection, when he noticed that they weren't alone in the kitchen.

So he quickly dropped his arm back to his side.

"Oh," he tipped his head towards Miss Evelyn, sitting there at the farm table, with what looked like the last of her lunch . . . a few pieces of fruit salad were left on the plate, "afternoon, ma'am. I was just here to pick up Sophia."

"Yes, Daryl," Miss Evelyn smiled as she put down her water glass and pushed back her chair, "I know. I heard you were going out to see Jack and Theresa. Actually that's why I was sticking around to see you," she started walking over to the side bar, "I wanted to give you something for them."

She turned back around then with two large, aluminum wrapped containers in her hand.

"It's a chicken casserole, and a veggie lasagna," she explained, "all cooked, they just need to be heated up. They aren't much, but," her smile faded as she shook her head, "when I saw Theresa at church on Sunday she looked terrible. I think she's heading into one of her spirals again, and I thought maybe it would help a little if they were covered on meals for a few days."

"Spirals?" Carol asked in confusion, from where she was sliding a snack bag into Sophia's backpack, "what kind of spirals does she have?"

After exchanging a quick look with Miss Evelyn who was putting the casserole dishes down on the table, Daryl attention shifted back over to Carol.

"The depression kind," he explained quietly, "their daughter Kelly Ann was a chopper pilot, and she got killed in Iraq about a year ago now. She was their only child, and Theresa's still having a real bad time," he shook his head, "the two of them were close as can be, so I don't know really if she'll ever get much better."

Feeling a sympathetic stab of grief at the thought of losing her own daughter, Carol closed her eyes for a second.

"Oh," she bit her lip, "that's awful. But wait," her eyes opened wide again, "Kelly Ann? Isn't she the one you told me named Wesley and Buttercup?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "that's her. Their daughter. But I didn't want to bring up her death at the time," he tipped his head, "figured it would've put a damper on the conversation."

Carol's gaze dropped to the floor.

"Right," she murmured, "it would have. Though," her eyes bounced back up to his, "I feel like now I should tell Sophia something so she'll be on her best behavior."

"Carol," Daryl cut in with a wry look, "when is that girl _not_ on her best behavior?"

She tipped her head. "Still . . ."

So he put his hand up.

"I know what you mean, but it's not gonna come up with Jack. He'll just be happy to have her visit. Since Kelly Ann passed, he's been keeping himself busy coaching the little ones t-ball games. I think it helps him. And if Theresa's out in the yard," he waved his hand, "which is unlikely, I'll just tell Sophia she's not feeling well so she should be extra nice, and leave it at that." Then his eyebrow inched up.

"Does that all sound good to you, Mama?"

Feeling her chest ache at his use of the name "Mama," . . . Daryl used it to show he deferred to her as having final opinion on decisions that had to do with Sophia . . . Carol nodded.

"Yeah," she gave him a little smile, "that sounds good."

Just then she was distracted by the pounding of little sneakers racing across the wooden floors. She rolled her eyes.

"No running in the house, Sophia!" she called out, right before she heard all sounds of scuffing sneakers come to a complete stop. And then three seconds after that, Sophia came tiptoeing into the kitchen with a sheepish, "sorry, Mama."

And seeing how she was biting on her lip, Carol remembered all the times they really DID have to tiptoe across the floors, because Ed was in one of his moods. And she didn't want her girl to be afraid like that anymore, so her expression immediately softened as she gave her a little smile.

"It's okay baby, you don't have to tiptoe, just no running," she shot a quick look over to Miss Evelyn, "we don't want to scuff Miss Evelyn's nice floors, right?"

At that, Sophia's eyes immediately darted over to the older woman, before she gave her a shy smile.

"Sorry, Miss Evelyn," she whispered with a tip of her head. But Miss Evelyn just waved her off with an amused, "don't you worry about it, baby girl. Those floors have lasted through forty years of a half dozen stray cats, and one wild eyed hound dog that Miss Roberta insisted have free run of the house, even though he had claws as long as your big toe."

Sophia started to giggle at that. So did Carol too actually. But now that all apologies had been given, received, and accepted/rejected, she saw her daughter inching her way over to where Daryl was still standing by the back door.

It was clear that she really wanted to give him a hug.

And her enthusiasm got the best of her . . . after six days, she honestly did think he hung the moon, though Carol was pretty much of the same opinion . . . that she couldn't stop herself from racing over the last five feet.

Carol just let out an exasperated snort as she shook her head.

"In one ear . . ." she sighed.

Daryl huffed at that, even while simultaneously giving her a look, and rubbing his hand down Sophia's back.

"Well at least she ain't peeing the carpets," he murmured drily.

Then, hearing Miss Evelyn's chuckle of, "you are a card, Daryl," Carol looked over to see the older woman giving him an affectionate smile. And she felt good about that. That he was being welcomed here.

Even if it was only by one of the ladies.

It was just then that Miss Evelyn pushed off from the counter, and started towards the back hallway.

"I'll see you later Daryl," she said with a wave of her fingers, "I've got some mending to do."

At the last minute, as she was going through the doorway, she called over her shoulder.

"Don't forget the casseroles," and he quickly shook his head.

"No ma'am, I won't forget."

So she gave him a final wave, and continued on her way out of the kitchen.

And hearing her heels clickin' off along those wooden floors, Daryl finally felt comfortable pulling out the present he'd brought for Sophia. So he reached into his back pocket, to pull out the item he'd shoved in there when he was getting out of the Ford.

It was a trucker's hat.

"All right now," he started undoing the snaps as Sophia stared up at him, wide-eyed, "I know it looks dirty, but I just washed it yesterday. And you need something to keep the sun outta your eyes, or you're gonna get a headache."

That was when he stooped down to plop the hat down on her little blond head. But of course first try and all, he hadn't gotten it tight enough.

It slipped down to cover over her eyebrows.

And she looked so ridiculous, he couldn't help the faint snort that came out when he reached over to fix it. But once he'd bent the sides a little, and tucked her hair up around the edges, he had it on straight.

When he leaned back, he tipped his head slightly, right before his lip quirked up.

"That's perfect," he murmured as he put his hand on her shoulder, "now," he turned her around, "show your mama."

Carol watched as Daryl shifted Sophia around so she could see her little daughter now wearing a much too big, grease stained, John Deere trucker's cap, that was about three sizes too big for her head. That alone was cute enough, but paired up with her pony tail sticking out the back, and the pink t-shirt and jean shorts, she looked absolutely adorable.

"Oh baby," Carol bit her lip as she felt a spark of warmth in her eyes, "you look so cute! I wish I could take a picture."

The words had no sooner left her mouth, than she heard Miss Evelyn saying, "I forgot my fruit salad," and her eyes shot across the room to see the older woman coming in through the doorway again.

Then she stopped short, looking over at Sophia standing in front of Daryl. A big grin spread across her face.

"Oh Miss Sophia, that hat does suit you, baby girl."

Her amused gaze shifted up and over then, to Carol.

"You should get a picture. Actually," she put a finger up, "hold on, I'll get the camera. It's just in the office."

And she disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived. When Carol looked over at Daryl shaking his head, she couldn't help but laugh.

"What can I say, ladies like pictures! And we should start building up a new scrapbook, because I was only able to take a few of the old pictures with me."

That was one of the few things that she'd been really careful about when she was packing that morning she left. All that prior week leading up to D Day (Departure Day), she'd gone around the house, deciding what she wanted to take with her, and what she needed to accept had to be left behind. But pictures were something that had to come, and fortunately they didn't take up hardly any space at all. Full photo albums would have of course, but she'd just pulled out all the individual photos she'd wanted, and slipped them into a giant ziplock. One of her and her parents, her baby picture, (for posterity, she could compare it with her grandbabies someday), Sophia's newborn pictures, and then a couple of other favorites from over the years. In all Carol had widdled herself down to thirteen photos, but they were all important ones.

Like this one would be.

It was her daughter's first big 'adventure,' out in their new life. That was something to commemorate.

She huffed to herself.

Even if Daryl thought she was crazy.

But still, when Miss Evelyn came back, he was a good sport and stood there patiently while she took a picture of him stooped down next to Sophia. He had his hand on her shoulder, and she was leaning against his chest, and they looked so sweet together with Sophia's big smile, and his eyes so soft, that it made Carol's heart hurt a little bit. Because once again she was thinking what a good part-time daddy he could be, if they could just get things to work out. But that's when she realized that's kind of what he was already doing today. Stepping up to do something nice for her girl.

Which was more than Ed ever did.

And she got herself distracted enough staring at Daryl and Sophia, thinking about possible futures, that she apparently missed something Miss Evelyn said to her. Because then the older woman was bumping her with an elbow, telling her to go get in the shot.

"Oh," she squeaked, "sorry."

So with a quick brush of her hands across her mouth to make sure she didn't have any crumbs there, she hurried over to where the other two were waiting. And once she was standing behind her daughter, Carol put her arm across Sophia's chest, just as she felt Daryl slip his arm around her waist. And as he pulled her in a little closer, she heard him whisper in her ear.

"My last picture was a mug shot, and I still did less posin' for the State of Georgia than I am today for Miss Evelyn." And she burst out laughing.

"Perfect!" Miss Evelyn yelled, "I got that one. Now just hold there for one second." Then she did three more quick snaps with the digital camera, before she walked over to show them the set.

When she got to the one with Carol laughing, Daryl tapped the edge of the frame.

"I like that one best," he murmured.

"Yeah," Carol's eyes crinkled, "I think that's my favorite too. Though I also like that first one of just you and Sophia."

"Here," Miss Evelyn handed the camera over to Carol, "you can print out whatever you want. Everything you need's on the bottom shelf in the office. As soon as you plug the connecting cable to the computer, the program will open up and walk you right through it."

"Okay," Carol nodded, "great." She tucked the camera against her chest, "thanks."

"Do you want any money for the photo paper?" Daryl cut in, as he started to slide his hand into his pocket, but Miss Evelyn just shot him a scowl.

"Don't be silly. I'm not taking your money, boy."

He snorted.

"Sorry ma'am," he answered with a faint smirk, while he let his arm fall back to his side, "just wanted to make sure."

Miss Evelyn shot him another hairy eyeball and a harrumph, before she started out of the kitchen again. Though Carol was sure she wasn't really upset with him. Maybe just a bit insulted.

Like he thought she was cheap or something.

So as she turned back to Daryl, her lip quirked up.

"And you two were so close to being BFFs."

"Staahp," he drawled out with a snort and a roll of his eyes. Both of which just made her laugh. Then she walked over to the counter to pick up Sophia's backpack.

She zipped up the outside pocket.

"All right," she turned back, holding it out in front of her as she walked over to Daryl, "I put in two bottles of water, a bag of grapes, a bag of cookies, and a Harry Potter book," she shot Sophia a quick, indulgent, smile, "just in case somebody gets bored."

"'K," he slipped it out of her hands, and threw it over his shoulder, "thanks sweetheart. And we'll be back about," he brought his wrist up to check the time . . . twelve fifty-four, "probably by three, three-thirty. The new paddock shouldn't take long, 'cuz it's just for the baby to run around. But their farm is a little outside of town, so maybe a twenty minute drive each way, from here to there."

All the years he'd been making that drive to help out with one thing or another, he'd never made it from this part of town before. That's why he was estimating a good twenty minutes.

It was only about fifteen from his place.

"Okay," Carol's eyes crinkled, "then I won't send out the search dogs until at least four."

"Hmph," he let out a grunt as he slipped his arm around Sophia's slim little shoulders, "your mama's a funny lady, Sophia."

Feeling a fresh spark of amusement . . . she'd clearly hit a nerve there . . . Carol grinned up at him.

"And you're so cute," she leaned up to press a quick peck on his cheek, "when you're being all manly about your directional abilities."

Before he could say anything else . . . she could see it coming . . . she put her index finger over his lips. And she left it there while she leaned down to press a kiss to Sophia's cheek as well.

"You be a good girl, and if you have to go to the bathroom," she leaned back to give her a little smile, "don't be embarrassed to tell Daryl."

And seeing Sophia let out a giggle, along with another bright, happy smile . . . the kind she had hardly ever seen on her face back home . . . and an excited, "'K, mama!" Carol let her hand fall down from Daryl's lips.

She was just about to take a step back, when he caught her by the waist and pulled her to his chest.

"I don't get lost," he breathed into her ear, "ever."

And when he pulled away, she saw him he was definitely giving her a look. One that made her lips twitch.

"All right," she put her hands up, "I apologize."

So he grunted.

"All right then."

Then he tipped his head towards the counter behind her . . . Carol's eyes followed his.

"Can you hand me those please?"

The casseroles.

"Ah," she hurried over the two steps to pick up the shiny, metal containers, "right, can't forget these."

So she turned back and he reached out to slide them into his arms.

They were a little too bulky (and slippery) to easily manage with one hand, so Carol slid around him to get the door.

She held it wide open.

But just before Daryl slipped past her, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"I'll take good care of her."

The words were too soft for Sophia to hear, but Carol knew they were only for her ears anyway. Because when she looked up, it was to see that his brow looked a little worried. Like that might _actually_ have been a thought on her mind.

Silly man.

"I know you will." She answered softly, "I told you before that I trust you with my life." She reached out to put her hand on Sophia's head.

"This is my life."

His eyes dropped down then, and she saw him take a deep breath before he looked back up. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something else . . . but instead he just nodded.

Then he shifted the casseroles closer to his chest, so he could reach out to catch Sophia's fingers.

"Come on darlin'" he gave her hand a little jangle as he turned to start leading her down the steps.

"Let's go see the horses."

/*/*/*/*/

They got to Jack's just around one-twenty. And as Daryl had suspected, his buddy had been thrilled to death to have Sophia come out to the farm. He actually totally brushed off the paddock job, until he'd had a chance to show her around the place. First he'd introduced her to the pigs, (Pedro, Petunia and Penelope), then the two billy goats (Gruff and Tumble), the rooster, (Brewster the Rooster, he went by the full name), the henhouse (there were too many hens for Daryl to remember), and then lastly the dairy cow.

Mabel.

And Sophia had loved every single one of them animals. To the point, that Daryl was really wishin' that Carol had been there to see it. Not just to see how happy her daughter was, which was great, but also for her to see how much she liked the farm life. Because that was one more tick in the country living box.

And Daryl would take all the country living ticks he could get.

For that day at the farm though, after Sophia had seen the other barnyard residents, Jack had finally walked them off through the field, and over to the large, fenced in, paddock, to see the main purpose of their visit.

The horses.

Buttercup, Wesley, and the as yet unnamed foal. Daryl knew that Kelly Ann had named all of the other animals. Even when she was away at school, or overseas, six thousand miles away, her mama had still sent her a picture of the animal in question, and told her to decide what they should call it. Back when it was happening, it'd been sweet.

Now it was just heartbreaking.

Because Daryl had to figure that baby horse was going to be wantin' for a name, for a good while. Still though, Sophia had the best time running around with her, nameless or not. They sorta took turns chasing each other, each of them on their little spindly legs.

It had made him laugh.

So he let her keep playing, while he and Jack started pounding in the posts, and rollin' out the new fence. But after another half hour or so, Daryl looked over to see that Sophia was getting a little pinker, and sweatier, than he woulda liked.

And he did not want that child dropping from heat stroke.

So he took a short break from his post poundin', to get her settled in under one of the few White Oaks dotting the pasture. This one was about twelve yards away from where he was working. And after he'd gotten some water, and a few grapes into that girl, he took out her book, and told her to stay in the shade until she'd finished the water, and one whole chapter. Then she could go play again. It seemed like she was maybe expectin' that, because she just gave him a little smile, and an, "okay, Daryl." So he gave her back a wink, popped a cookie into his mouth . . . and snagged the other water.

Then he went back to work.

That had been about an hour ago, and since then he'd been keepin' half an eye on her, while he'd finished up the water . . . it was hot as hell out there . . . and he and Jack had rolled out another ten yards of fence. They were maybe a half hour from done, when from just behind him, Daryl felt a little hand pattin' his back, right at the same he got the stage whisper of, "Daryl, I need you."

So he turned, putting his hand up to shield his eyes . . . even with the brim of his own trucker's cap, it was just that time of day where the sun was blinding.

"Yeah, darlin," he blinked away the spots from his eyes, "something wrong?"

She leaned in then to put her head right next to his.

"I have to pee."

His eyes crinkled . . . of course.

"Okay, little girl," he started pulling off his work gloves, "we can get that done no problem."

And as he was pushing himself to his feet, he called across to the other side of the new pen they were just about done buildin'.

"Hey Jack! S'okay if Sophia uses the bathroom?!"

And Jack looked up, squinting over at them in the sun.

"Course she can!" He answered with a smile and a wave of his fence driver. "The door's unlocked, you know where it is Daryl!"

"Thanks man!" he called back, before turning to look down at Sophia.

"See," his lip quirked up, "no problem."

So with her mouth twisting into a shy smile, he put his hand on her shoulder, and started walking them across that sunny field.

If you could get past the heat, (which was bordering on swelterin', especially for May), it wasn't a bad day. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the only sound besides the cicadas buzzin' off in the surrounding trees, was that of their shoes tramplin' through the grass. And with Sophia's shorty legs, he knew it was gonna be a good ten minute trot from where they'd started out in that grass, until they got back to the big house on the other side of the driveway.

It was nice to take a break though.

His legs had been getting a bit cramped there stooped down on the ground.

And they were just walking around the broadside of Mabel's pasture . . . she had her own fenced in area separate from the horses . . . when Daryl's attention dropped down, to see Sophia plucking a ladybug off her t-shirt.

The corner of his lip quirked up.

"You makin' a friend?" He asked with a dry huff. And she shot him a quick grin, before she looked back at the little red bug. Then she held her hand up, let out a big puff of air . . . and blew it off into the breeze.

"Mama would like it here," she said softly, her arm falling back to her side, as her eyes tracked along with the tiny wings, "she likes it when it's quiet."

And wondering then if maybe Sophia had her mama on her mind, because she might be missing her, Daryl gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be done soon darlin, but," he patted his pocket with his free hand, "got my phone with me if you wanna call your mama just to say hi."

"Mmm," she murmured back, "it's okay." Then her eyes shifted up to lock onto his, before she added with a nod. "I'm okay."

And she sounded so grown-up, saying those two short little words, that Daryl felt a spot of what he supposed might be called melancholy. She wasn't even his, and he was thinkin' she was too little to be trying to set HIS mind at ease over anything.

That was just too many years of a little person having to BE grownup, was what that was.

So he found himself stopping them both in the middle of the pasture. And as she looked up at him, with the scrunched up nose so much like her mama's, he found himself feeling a new wave of protectiveness for this little girl. Yeah, he'd been feeling protective of her since they'd met, but this seemed different.

More personal.

Which was why he stooped down then . . . he wanted to see her eye to eye.

"I'm real glad you're feelin' okay," he began softly, "but if you're ever _NOT_ feelin' okay, you don't hafta hide that. It's okay to be sad, and it's okay to be scared, or nervous, or whatever feeling you got, that might be twisting your belly, or making your chest hurt. Nobody's ever gonna get mad at you for that." He shook his head slowly back and forth, "not ever again."

It was something he wanted her to know, because he knew what it was like to live with a daddy where you got beat just for havin' a bad day and not hidin' it well enough.

And he could see now how those big blue eyes filled up with tears, right before she took a deep, shudderin', breath. Then as she let it out though, she gave him a little smile. It was watery, but it was real. And he knew then, she understood what he was saying.

She probably got it all too well.

But not wanting to make her cry about it . . . they were having a good day . . . he reached out to cup her jaw. Then his lip quirked up.

"How about we get ice cream cones on the way home?"

"'K," she sniffled as her eyes crinkled, "and one for Mama too?"

"Course we'll get one for Mama, you silly girl," he answered her, as he slowly pushed himself back to his feet, "how could we have ice cream cones without your mama? They'd taste terrible."

Seeing her laugh a little at that, he let his hand fall down from her cheek, to take her fingers instead. Then he started walking them along.

"She likes strawberry, right?" He asked, figurin' this was as good a conversational topic as any other. But then he saw Sophia sniffle once again before she looked up at him in surprise.

"How'd you know that?"

His lips twitched.

"Lucky guess."

Lucky guess bein', that was her favorite kind of wine cooler. Sooo, odds were in his favor for it bein' her favorite kind of ice cream too.

And the topic of ice cream, the different flavors (Sophia liked chocolate with chocolate chunks, he was keen on the chocolate mint) and cone types (they both were big on the waffle and thought sugar was trash) was enough to keep them busy, in that light conversational way, for the rest of the walk through the cow pasture, and finally back to the gravel of the driveway.

It was just then, that the ground began to crunch beneath their feet, and the pebbles kicked out around them, that their pleasant food talk, fell away. There was just something about going up to a darkened house that made your tongue go quiet.

Like you were gonna wake the dead or something.

Daryl did give the yard and the porch a good once over, to see if Theresa had maybe come out for some fresh air, while they were off in the field.

But . . . his jaw twisted . . . nope.

The little flower garden out front still had an empty bench, and the porch swing still had an empty seat. The blinds were still down on all the windows too. Which meant it wasn't likely that she was even up and about.

Jack had already confirmed she wasn't feelin' well.

Still though, after he and Sophia had made it up the front steps, as they walked the last few feet to that big red door, Daryl made sure to knock. And then he gave it another thirty seconds on top of that.

Just to be a hundred percent.

But with no answer from inside, and already havin' the go ahead from Jack to go on in anyway, Daryl finally put his hand on the doorknob. Even while he was pushing the open though, he was calling out, softly, "yoo hoo, Theresa, you down here?"

Then he was quiet, just taking in the scene in the front of him. The musty, closed off, smell. The pitched, wooden staircase off to the left, the long, darkened hallway off to the right.

The sun spotted entryway all around them.

The sun spots on the floor though, they were only because they had the door open. Otherwise, he knew it would be just as grey in there, as it was lookin' down that main hallway. Jack and Theresa did not have a cheery home.

Or at least they hadn't since Kelly Ann had died.

And as he stood there, feelin' a little like he was wandering into a place he shouldn't be . . . like a tomb . . . suddenly Daryl did hear some kind of noise. It was faint. And seemed to be coming from far away.

Upstairs probably.

It wasn't Theresa comin' down to see them though. Because there was no creaking in the hallway just above, and nobody appeared at the head of the stairs. And by that point, Daryl figured he'd done all he could to be polite about bustin' into somebody else's house. So he turned to look down at Sophia, still holdin' his hand, now huddled up against his side.

Seeing that she was starin' up at him, wide eyed, he shrugged.

"Seems like it's just us."

Then he pointed towards the shadowy hallway with one hand as he started walking her along again with the other.

"It's just down along here at the end. On the right."

"'K," she murmured in response, before adding with a bit of a worried stammer, "um, uh, Daryl, why is it so dark?"

And looking down then to see her chewin' on her lip, he felt a pang that he'd brought her into a place that was makin' her nervous. Because after all she'd dealt with that passed weekend, he didn't wanna bring up any bad memories of creepy things in the dark.

Even if this dark was very different than what they'd experienced in the city.

Either way though, to set her worries a bit at ease, he paused for a second in the middle of the entryway, to adjust his hold on her little person. First, to take her left hand with his left hand, before he put his right one, over on her other shoulder. Then he pulled her against his side.

She stuck herself onto him like cling wrap.

"There ain't nothin' to worry about, darlin'" he whispered back with a squeeze of her fingers as they once more started walkin' along the creaky wooden floors. "Mrs. Applebaum gets bad headaches is all, so they keep the curtains closed and the lights low when she does. But I know all the shadows can seem a little uh . . ."

Sophia cut in with a tight, "spooky." To which he had to give a little grunt of agreement.

"Yeah," he huffed, "I suppose that's as good a word as any. But it's just 'cuz of the time a day, really," he added, tryin' to set her mind at ease, "the shadows are always longer in the afternoon."

It was _damn_ dark in there though. With the woods right behind the house, they lived in the shade anyway. And with all the curtains pulled, there was just a grey dustin' of light cutting through the darkness.

It was definitely not his preferred way of living.

His attention shifted over then, to one of the open doorways they were passing. It was the empty living room. He'd been in there probably a half dozen times over the years, so he knew the layout pretty well. And there was just enough sunlight peeking around the curtains in there today, for him to see a pillow and a messy pile of blankets, half hangin' off the old brown couch. His brow wrinkled.

One of them must've slept there last night.

But then he figured if Theresa was havin' one of her spells, it wouldn't be so weird if she wanted to be alone. Or if Jack just needed some space. Either way, he reminded himself, as his eyes snapped back to the hallway in front of him, it wasn't his business.

Other people's marriages never were.

Except maybe Carol's, he thought with faint jiggle of his head, but that was only because he was taking up another man's wife and daughter for his own responsibility. Not a hundred percent (yet) but enough to feel like he had himself quite the stake in the eventual disposition of Carol's matrimonial state. He really needed to figure out a way to get her free of that asshole. His jaw tightened.

And sooner than later.

Sooner would obviously be better, but this was not the time to be ruminatin' on that point. Because he and Sophia were just now coming up on the downstairs bath. And seeing the door was already half open, he just reached out to push it the rest of the way back.

He leaned in to snap on the light.

After all the shadows, those sixty watts in there were blinding enough that he had to blink away the fresh spots from his eyes. Seemed like he was doing that all day.

Then he turned around.

"'K, little girl," he murmured while guiding Sophia the last two steps over the threshold, "you can conduct your business. And see," he waved his hand, "you got a nice bright light in there, so it's not spooky at all."

As per usual, Carol's girl was a child of few words . . . that was one of his favorite qualities about her . . . so she just shot him one of those quick, shy smiles he liked so much, before she slid past him into the yellow tiled room. And after the door clicked shut, and he heard the lock scrape, Daryl turned around and took a few steps back the way they'd come.

He didn't want to be eavesdroppin' on her bathroom activities.

The problem was though, it was so damn QUIET in that house, it was hard not to be eavesdroppin.' And hearing a faint bit of tinklin', he took another four steps, until he was basically back in the middle of that long hallway.

That was far enough.

It wasn't until he turned around though, scrubbin' his hand across his forehead, that he realized he'd stopped right in front of the line of Applebaum family photos. They all seemed to be covered in dust. And the one right in front of his nose, that made him wince.

It was Kelly Ann's official service picture.

And it had to have been the one taken right after she'd joined up, because her face was so young and fresh, she looked like a baby. Of course she really was just a baby then. Eighteen, straight out of Blackburn High at the very head of her class, and on her way to a full scholarship at the Air Force Academy out west. That's where she got herself a degree, a pilot's license, and a fiancé.

Two years after she'd graduated . . . she was dead.

The fiancé too now, from what he'd heard from Jack. The kid had been deployed in Afghanistan, the same time Kelly Ann was over in Iraq. But they'd sent him back stateside, shortly after her chopper was shot down. "Hardship Discharge," they'd called it. Given the times, and the need for able bodies, that wasn't an easy thing to get. But it seemed he'd been VERY unstable after she'd died.

 _Not fit for active duty_ , was the final call.

Which turned out to be the correct one, because the boy ended up blowin' half his head off, about six months after he got home. Apparently between the war, and her death, it was all just too much stress for him. So those kids never got their wedding, or even one twenty-fifth birthday, between them. Daryl's expression softened as he brought his hand up to wipe away a cobweb tangled on the edge of the metal frame.

It was all such a waste.

It was just then that he heard a noise . . . a louder one than he had when they'd first walked in. His eyes shot up to the stucco ceiling.

Because it seemed to be right over his head.

He wasn't sure what it was though. Coulda been a foot stompin' down, or maybe Theresa had knocked something over. He bit his lip.

Or maybe she'd fallen.

For a moment he just stood there in the shadows, staring up, and listenin', trying to figure out if there was a problem or not.

And then he heard a bang.

Okay . . . his jaw snapped . . . that was DEFINITELY something falling over! And just by instinct, he started to run towards the entryway, but then he remembered . . . Sophia.

Damn it!

He spun around, his eyes snapping back through the shadows, and down to the bathroom door.

Still closed.

And even if he was just runnin' upstairs for a minute, he couldn't leave that child down here alone. Not when she was already creeped out just walking down the hallway WITH him. If he was gone when she came out, she'd probably have a baby heart attack.

And Carol would never trust him with her daughter again.

But still . . . his jaw clenched when he heard another noise . . . he was definitely of the opinion that Theresa needed to be checked on, in very short order. So with one eye still on the bathroom door, he continued moving slowly down towards the other end of the hall.

He figured he'd just call up the stairs and make sure she was okay to answer. And if she wasn't . . . he took another step . . . then when Sophia came out, he'd just send her off to get Jack while he ran up to see if they needed to call the ambulance.

It was a good, solid plan.

But then he heard a loud crash, and what seemed like glass breaking . . . a lot of it. And he froze.

Shit.

* * *

 _A/N 2: Long note._

 _First, aaaaah…crap. Because yep, Theresa Applebaum is the first (known) walker in Blackburn. *champagne cork popping* :) I do feel badly about that though, because she's clearly had a bad time. I'm actually feeling my latent, lapsed Catholic guilt, kicking up writing all of these fictional townsfolk :) But they have their own little lives and personalities to me now, and you know the statistics on how much of the population is going to make it to the other side. It's not good!_

 _The Dixon/Biddie back story! Another one of those things that came to me from early days in the plotting here, that back when they were all young and idealistic one of the women would have tried to save Daryl's mother from his father, but that those plans would've fallen apart because his mom realized she was pregnant again. And that baby would be Daryl. And for that approach to work, in that true, ugly bitter way that would carry on through the decades . . . there needed to be a broken heart involved. Because nothing carries a grudge like a broken heart! And I didn't want to do a "Daryl's mom was gay, dun, dun, da!" like a cheap plot device, because that's how it generally comes off if you have no canon to pull for that kind of character detail. So that's why I left it more subtle that she could have maybe just been a young woman who had never experienced the sort of affection and kindness Roberta showed her from anyone before. OR she could have truly been bi (or gay), and this was the first person she'd met who she could actually imagine exploring those feelings with. She's the only one who could have answered that question, and she's gone, so the mystery remains. And yes, I also overtly implied Daryl's conception was likely the result of that rape. I hope I didn't lose anyone there, but I actually feel that falls well within canon. Because I just don't see women who get beaten up by their partners on a regular basis, often being 'in the mood' to have sex with them. How could you be? Really. I think it's more, in most cases that you just learn that if you don't want to be hurt more, then you don't fight it. Which is very much NOT the same thing as actual consent and participation, because the choice to say no, was never an option. But here, everything had to be tied in with this huge event where she was really going to leave him, so, it had to be overtly bad. Sorry :( But to offset that, there's Mrs. Loretta telling Daryl that his momma thought he was the best thing she'd done with her life. So his mother loved him no matter what, and he turned out a lot better than Merle. Which kind of spins both Nature and Nurture, on their tops. Even in canon._

 _With Carol's talk about the pictures, a little harkening back to canon with the first episode and Morgan and Rick talking about their wives grabbing photo albums. But moms are generally the keeper of the pictures. I don't know if it was ever touched on in the show if they were able to keep at least some of those photos through the years since the ZA, but I'd like to think Carol at least somehow was able keep a raggedy copy of Sophia's picture somewhere with her. Because that would be very sad if her daughter died and she could literally never see her face again :( To that end, I'm starting to become VERY fond of this little girl, and the little familial grouping we have here. So much so, that I'm not sure how AU I might go with season 2. Because I had planned a 'reinterpretation,' but at least when it came to major paradigm shifting events, a variation of those things in canon, would still happen. But you can see now how that would be SUPER painful to do a variation on the Sophia stuff! Like devastatingly so. I guess we'll just have to see where we end up!_

 _For the first time in ANY story/universe, I am writing so many original characters (there are a few more coming) that I actually made myself a separate "Character" document, just to keep track of all their names/back stories. You have no idea how it pained me to do it, because I sort of pride myself on remembering crap like that :) But it just seemed prudent to get it all down to free up those brain cells for other stuff._

 _Our next chapter will NOT be another novella, but I do have a chunk of it written already so we can maybe have another update by the end of the month._

 _And thanks again for all the notes everyone! Hope you liked the chapter! :)_


	14. The Precipice

**Author's Note:**

 ***PLEASE READ THIS FIRST PARAGRAPH***

Hi all. I put this on Tumblr already, but if you didn't see it, just a little assistance please :) So you folks need to know that I am NOT watching season 6. I tried a little of the first episode last month and it killed my muse, dead, for two days. Being exposed to new canon, and other people's imaginations for how the characters are living, it blocks my own ideas and creative spark. It happened back when I was writing Criminal Minds too, it's just how my brain processes this stuff. So please, for the love of all that is good and decent in the dead world, NO SEASON 6 SPOILERS in your notes to me :) I love and totally appreciate the story feedback so much, but ANY canon knowledge of current events, be it about Caryl, lack of Caryl, or anything/anybody else, can shut this baby down! And we don't want that :) So thank you all for being good doobies and lying to me for the rest of our time together :)

And to the story, I will say nothing about what's coming, except to say that I do LOVE reading the reviews where you folks speculate about what's going to happen next, when I've already _written_ what happens next. That's fun for me :) Also, heads up, this one is NOT as long as the last one. It's still like thirteen thousand words without the notes though, so, you can't throw stones at me! :)

FYI, if interested, I am now posting over on "Nine Lives" as well. If you aren't familiar with it, they're a dedicated Caryl FF site, that a couple of people had mentioned to me. Obviously, I'm using the same name over there.

And now, curtain up, direct continuation with Daryl!

* * *

 _Tuesday Afternoon – Wednesday Night_

 _Day 6 - 7_

 **The Precipice**

Daryl was just about to yell out for Theresa to see what was going on, when he heard the creak of a door behind him.

He spun around.

And back there in the shadows, was Sophia pokin' her head out into the hallway . . . so he called out for her instead.

"Down here darlin'," he waved his hand, "come on."

That girl did not need to be told twice. She was already running flat out on those little white Keds of hers, before he'd even finished saying "'darlin." And though he knew her mama was on her about runnin' in the house, he didn't have it in him to chastise her on that point right then.

Not with that scared little face coming up at him.

Instead he just put his arm up, right before she smashed into his side.

"There are weird noises in here, Daryl."

The words came out muffled against the flannel of his shirt, as her little fingertips dug into his skin. And feeling another pang of guilt for this house makin' her stressed, when she needed no more stress of any kind, he rubbed his hand down her back.

"I know," he murmured in a tight response, with one eye out to the entryway, just a few steps away, "but those noises are nothing for you to be scared about little girl. It's not like the city. There ain't nobody out here but us and the Applebaums. And I told you the Mrs. wasn't feelin' well, and she's on medicine, so I'm worried she might've had an accident upstairs."

And he paused for a second to look down, making sure to catch Sophia's eyes before he continued speaking.

She still looked tense, but at least less frightened.

"So," he continued softly, "I need to go check on her now, and see if she's all right. And while I do that," he started walking them quickly through the entryway, "I need you to do me another big person favor. I want you to run out into the field and get the Mister. Tell him we heard noises up the stairs, and I went to check on the Mrs., okay?"

Sophia gave a quick, tight, nod.

"Yep," she swallowed, "okay."

"All right then," he said as they came up to the door, and he put his hand down to turn the knob, "quick as you can darlin.'"

And he pulled the door open . . . and slammed right into someone coming through it.

"Whoa," he stumbled a step while he quickly yanked Sophia back to his chest.

"Jack," he blinked at the man who had stopped short in front of him, lookin' very perplexed.

"Something wrong, Daryl?"

"Yeah," Daryl immediately pulled one arm from Sophia's shoulders, to jerk his thumb towards the staircase, "something's not right upstairs. There was some thumps and glass breakin' and I was just sending Sophia out to get you." He bit his lip, "I'm worried Theresa might've fallen or something."

"Oh," Jack's eyes darted up then and over to the second floor landing, "oh, okay, I'll go check on her. Uh," he patted Daryl's shoulder as he brushed past him, "thanks, and you guys can go. We can finish the fence later in the week if you're free."

"Okay, that's fine man," Daryl hurriedly spit out as he spun around, calling after his friend, "but we'll wait here in case you need help. I'm telling you," he shook his head, "it didn't sound good."

"No no," Jack was already half up the staircase when he waved his hand over his shoulder, "it's fine. I can uh, I can . . ."

His steps slowed just as his words began to fade. Then he stopped speaking completely as he turned back around.

"A couple months ago Theresa started taking her pills with the Jim Beam," he explained quietly, and with some obvious embarrassment, "so it'd be best if I took care of this on my own."

Daryl bit his lip.

"Course," he murmured, now clearly picturin' a likely cause of the glass breaking . . . drunken fit, "I understand. But if you need anything I can help with later," he started backing himself and Sophia out the door, "you just call me, all right?"

If there was anything he understood all too well, it was the need to keep family business within the family. And as Daryl could feel his boot scraping against the door jamb, he saw Jack put his hand up.

"Yeah," he sighed, "thanks man." Then his eyes shifted down to Sophia, and his expression lightened.

"It was real nice meetin' you, Sophia." He added with a faint, sad, smile, "and you're welcome to come back anytime with Daryl if you wanna see the animals again. You don't need no special invitation, okay?"

"K," she answered with a quick nod, "thank you." Then she cleared her throat before adding in her soft little voice.

"I hope Mrs. Applebaum feels better."

And when she said that, Jack's eyes filled, and for just a second, Daryl thought he was going to start crying. He felt so bad for him then, because Daryl couldn't help but remember that with Sophia's light features, and quiet demeanor, how much she looked, and sounded, a lot like Kelly Ann had at her age. And with his wife likely layin' out on the floor upstairs from a combination of alcohol and grief . . . and that apparently not being the first time that had happened . . . Jack's heart was probably breaking straight up right about then.

And that was a not a pain that Daryl wanted to prolong.

So he quickly finished getting himself and his little charge, out to the porch, before he leaned back in and grabbed the faded brass knob. The last thing he saw was Jack putting a hand up . . . right before he dropped his eyes to the ground.

"You take care now," Daryl said with a quiet nod, just before he pulled the door shut.

And then for a second he stood there with one hand on Sophia's shoulder, and the other still on that faded brass. His eyes were locked down on the ratty old door mat beneath his feet.

" _Welcome To Our Happy Home."_

That's actually what it said. As if that wasn't a fuckin' joke and a half. Which was why it felt so wrong to just go off now and leave Jack and Theresa in the state they were in. Her upstairs and him down, both of them broken and grievin', each in their own ways.

But there really wasn't anything to be done.

Certainly nothing Daryl could do. He couldn't bring their daughter back. And that's all they wanted.

To flip back the clock.

But for some reason thinking about that kind of loss, made him think about Sophia. And his attention shifted up from the floor, and over to her standing by his side.

Her little brow was pinched with worry.

At least she wasn't scared anymore, but still, he hated seeing that look on her face too. Because this was supposed to be a good day for her.

He didn't want it to end seein' somebody else's sadness like that.

So he reached over and took her hand, and when she looked up at him, his eyes crinkled. He was gonna pretend like everything was fine.

Then maybe she would forget that it wasn't.

So he turned and started walkin' them off the porch.

"When we go grab your bag," he said when they reached the stairs, "we should stop over and say bye to Buttercup and Wesley. You can tell 'em you'll be back to visit real soon. I mean," he tipped his head, "if you wanna come back." He shot her a side eye. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah," her lip quirked up, "I'd like to come back. It was fun. Well," her voice faded, "mostly."

Realizing then, when they were stepping down onto the gravel driveway, that whether he really wanted to or not, it would probably be best to explain some about what the undercurrent was back there. So he gave her fingers a light squeeze.

Then he let out a sigh.

"I know it got a little tense there at the end darlin', but you see The Applebaums had a daughter, Kelly Ann, and she passed away last year. Do you know what passed away means?"

"Uh huh," she looked up at him with a serious nod, "it means she died."

"Right," his lips pursed, "she died. And they're still very, very sad about that. And that's why Mrs. Applebaum wasn't feelin' well. But," he gave her a nod, "Mr. Applebaum, he really did like spendin' time with you today. That made him happy I think, 'cuz it reminded him of good memories of his girl."

Then he stopped them both short, right in the middle of the driveway.

He looked down.

"Does that make sense to you, darlin'?" He asked quietly, "or am I talking a bit over your head?"

Though he figured this type of death and grief conversation might've been something that Carol would've preferred to handle herself . . . she wasn't there. And he didn't want this festerin' in Sophia's little brain, so that all she'd remember later about this day, was how it all ended with a grown man cryin' on a staircase.

And he could see her now, chewin' on her lip as she looked up at him. Then finally she gave a slow nod.

"I think I know what you mean," she said softly. "It's like when Papaw died and Mama was sad, but then she found an old book with pictures of him and Gramma, and she was happy again. But she was still crying too."

"Right," his eyes crinkled a bit, "that's just right. You're a smart girl," his lip quirked up, "you get that from your mama."

Sophia smiled at that, real wide and bright. It was that reminder, yet again, of how much she really did look up to her mother. That was something else he wished Carol could see.

Or at least see it as well as he could.

And he was thinkin' (hopin') that maybe he and Sophia were all done there. That he'd gotten them through an awkward talk, without much in the way of real awkwardness. But then he saw that smile suddenly fall away, and that girl looked up at him so serious then.

So serious she looked much, much older, than ten.

Then she bit her lip again.

"How did their daughter die?"

Of course . . . he bit down a groan . . . the million dollar question. And now he was REALLY kickin' himself for convincing Carol it wasn't necessary to have this talk with her before they left the house. Though in his defense, he'd spent some time with the Applebaums since Kelly Ann's death, and even if they'd understandably been more quiet than they used to be, they'd never been like this. So there was no way he coulda seen all this comin' today.

But still . . . his jaw clenched . . . come it had. And now he needed to deal with it.

In a Disney type fashion.

"Uh," he started speaking slowly as he scrubbed his hand across his jaw, "she was a soldier. A pilot," he brought his finger up in a twirling motion, "she flew one of those big black helicopters. And one day," his hand fell, "her helicopter had an accident and she got hurt real bad." He shook his head as his voice faded, "and she didn't get better."

That was about the cleanest version of, "an IED blew her whirlybird out of the sky, and burned her body beyond recognition," that he could come up with. But fortunately he could see from Sophia's slow nod, that she seemed to understand . . . and accept . . . that (cleaner) version of a terrible story.

Then she blinked and looked off towards the barn.

"Maybe we could feed the animals before we go," her eyes snapped back up to his, "then Mr. Applebaum won't have to do it later."

Feeling an ache in his heart that a child who had suffered so much abuse, could still have so much kindness in her, Daryl reached out to cup Sophia's jaw. Then he brushed his thumb along her cheek.

"You're such a good girl, Sophia," he whispered with a firm nod, "and that is definitely something we can do for him."

Seeing how her face lit up at that, his lips twitched. Then his arm fell as his other hand gave her fingers a little tug.

"Come on," his voice brightened a bit, "let's go get the buckets."

So they started off towards the barn where Daryl pulled the food buckets down from the shelves, and started passing Sophia the scoops. Feed for the chickens and rooster, pellets for the goats, and vegetable scraps for the pigs.

Daryl handled the pigs.

Not because Sophia was afraid of them, but because he was a worried about Pedro and Petunia mistakin' Sophia's short fingers, for carrot sticks.

Those pigs were pretty damn big.

But once the feedin' was done around the pens and the hen house, they got some fresh water from the inside tap, and refilled all the troughs. After that, Daryl put a hook through a hay bale, tossed that over his shoulder, and he and Sophia started off for the paddocks.

The horses did have grass to eat, and fresh water already in their trough up there . . . Jack had lugged out a couple buckets earlier . . . but the trip was necessary anyway. They needed to pick up Sophia's backpack and his work gloves.

Plus of course she wanted to say goodbye to those horses.

And that she did. With a hug half around the neck, and a kiss on the nose for all three of them. Which was around the point where Daryl started to see why Carol liked to take pictures.

Because that woulda been a good one.

So when he was hooking her backpack up over his shoulder, he started thinkin' maybe he should invest in one of those camera phones. You could get those as burners too, they just cost another twenty, thirty bucks up front. But as he looked over at Sophia nuzzlin' the nose of that baby horse, he was thinking that would be money very well spent.

And when she looked back over at him with that big grin on her face, he felt the corner of his mouth pulling up.

It was impossible not to smile back at that child.

"Come on little girl," he called out with a wave of his hand, "we gotta get going!"

So after one more kiss to that foal's nose, Sophia started skipping back down to the gate. And seeing her do that, lightened his heart.

Because no child skips when she's having a bad day.

Which meant that the events in the house, had been forgotten. Or at the least pushed off for the moment. So as he let out of her out of the paddock, he put his hand out to catch her fingers.

"We'll come back again real soon darlin'," he murmured to her, while he re-hooked the latch on the gate, "and next time we'll bring some carrots and sugar cubes," he turned, giving her hand a squeeze, as he started walking them along, "then you guys can be buddies forever."

That was an idea that thrilled Sophia to all get out. So the rest of the way back to the truck, she asked him questions about the different kinds of foods horses eat and what they do all day, and how big they can get, and at a certain point he realized she was probably thinking about gearin' up to ask her mama to get her a horse. That was the point where _he_ made a mental note to warn Carol that was comin'.

Because the biddies did not have a big enough backyard for a stallion.

Besides that, as long as they were in the area, he could get Sophia horsey face time at Jack's place, and at least three others, basically whenever she wanted it. So as they were walkin' along the gravel, headin' up to the truck, he told her that too. And it seemed to make her happy to know there were other horses out around town that she hadn't met yet. His eyes crinkled.

She was quite the little social butterfly.

And her idea to get the animals fed for Jack, had only taken about a half hour more out of their afternoon.

And that was mostly just the walkin' back and forth from the field.

It wasn't until he was helpin' Sophia up onto the bench seat though, that Daryl realized he was still carrying the hay hook over his shoulder. He'd completely forgotten about it. So after he'd passed Sophia the backpack, he told her to hold on a second while he ran back over to the barn to hang it up.

That took maybe a minute.

And it was as he was coming out from there, that he noticed the way the sun was hittin' the front of the house straight on now. To the point that when he looked up, all he could see was glare coming back off the second story windows.

But that just made him wonder all the more what was going on behind those panes of glass.

It was probably a good sign though, that Jack hadn't felt Theresa needed to go to the clinic. Because if she'd hurt herself bad, either fallin' down or throwin' that glass around, he definitely woulda taken her out.

Whether she liked it or not.

But as he jogged up to the truck cab, Daryl had to figure even if she wasn't hurt, she was probably still in quite the state if she'd been making that much noise upstairs. Because she had sounded like Merle did around three am on a Saturday morning.

And Merle was also a fan of the Jim Beam.

It was just then, when Daryl was pulling open the driver's side door, that he saw something movin' in one of the front windows of the house. One of the downstairs ones. There was less glare down there.

And he could see a shadow.

And figuring that was probably Jack in there lookin' out to see what the hell they were still doing out here, Daryl put a couple fingers up in a half wave. It wasn't much, just an acknowledgment that they were goin'.

Then he put his hand on the roof, and pulled himself up into the truck.

As the door slammed shut, for a second he thought he heard some kinda noise, but he wasn't quite sure what it could be. And so with the key in his hand, his brow wrinkled for a few seconds before he shook his head. Eh.

Probably nothin'.

So he looked across the front seat to Sophia, belted in, and flippin' through her Harry Potter. And as he slipped the key into the ignition, he called over to her.

"You ready to get that ice cream now, little miss?"

She turned to give him a tiny grin.

"Two scoops?" She asked hopefully. And he rolled his eyes.

"Pfft," he scoffed while revving the engine, "you kidding me? After all the runnin' around we did, we're gettin' THREE scoops!" He let out a grunt as he shifted gears, "we earned it."

And so to the sounds of her little giggle, he put his arm on the back of the seat, and turned to start backin' them up, down the long, narrow, driveway.

The house and barn were set so far in on the property, it was nearly a quarter of a mile to get back out to the road. And he'd just about reached the halfway point, with grass on both sides of them, when he heard Sophia pipe up.

"Oh," she pointed, "I think Mrs. Applebaum just came out on the porch."

And Daryl pressed down on the brake, so he could throw a quick look back out through the front windshield.

Between the distance and the sun, he had to squint pretty hard, but yeah, he nodded to himself, it did indeed appear that the door was open. And the person standin' there on the porch was not big enough to be Jack.

It had to be Theresa.

So he gave a little nod to Sophia, before he turned to look over his shoulder again.

"Yeah," he murmured as he started moving them backwards again, "looks like she did. That's good. It probably means she's feelin' a little better."

They were just rollin' by the Applebaum's bright red wooden mailbox then, it had three little pigs on top, so he twisted the wheel, and shifted them back into Drive. Once they were forward facing, with his foot still on the brake, he slipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out the burner.

"Here," he passed it over to Sophia, "tell your mama we'll be back in a half hour, with enough ice cream to ruin your dinner."

"'K," she giggled as she took the cell.

Then they took off down the road.

/*/*/*/

Daryl and Sophia arrived at the yellow house a little after three.

Since Sophia's call from the truck saying they'd be home in about thirty minutes, Carol had been watching out the kitchen window for them the last ten. And when she finally saw the tops of their heads as they were coming into the backyard, she dropped the carrot she was peeling down onto the counter, and hurried over to the sink to wash her hands.

The carrots could wait.

So barely ten seconds later, she was coming down the back steps, laughing, when she saw the two overloaded ice cream cones that Daryl was balancing in his hands.

Sophia's chocolate one was already smeared half all over her face.

A point Carol realized when she leaned down to give her daughter a kiss hello, and had to redirect from her lips from cheek to forehead. Then she straightened up and did the same thing to Daryl too.

Though his face was still clean so he got the cheek kiss.

And as she pulled away, rubbing her hand down his arm, he passed the strawberry cone over to her.

"It was starting to melt," he muttered, "so I had to lick yours a bit."

Her mouth quivered. And then suddenly feeling an uncharacteristic burst of confidence, she leaned up to press her lips to his ear.

"It's okay," she whispered, "you can lick anything of mine you want."

It was probably the first dirty joke she'd told in years. And _definitely_ the dirtiest thing she'd said to Daryl since they'd met. And as she pulled back, biting her lip . . . and feeling some of that confidence fading away, because it always did . . . she could see how his ears were turning pink. Then he shot her a look.

It was part admonishment, part amusement . . . and just a smidge of something else.

Something that gave a little kick right to her gut.

Either way though, he kept his mouth shut. But she knew that was only because Sophia was right there. Hence Carol having to whisper her naughty little remark to start. But she had a feeling, as she started in on her, swirly red and pink ice cream, that he was probably going to have something to say to her later.

In the meantime, feeling the first full bite of that snack hitting her taste buds, she let out a moan.

"Oh my God," her eyes shot up to his in surprise, "I think this is the best ice cream I've ever had. Where'd you get it?"

"Hmm," Daryl's words were garbled over his bite, "local farmer has a stand."

He swallowed.

"The family makes fresh ice cream at an onsite creamery," he swallowed before continuing on more clearly, "with as many local or Georgia grown ingredients as they can get. They don't have all the fancy flavors," he took another lick, "that you get with the chain places, but they do keep six standards always available, plus one special flavor rotated from month to month. This month," he popped his tongue out to catch a minty drop that was about to fall, "is vanilla with peanut butter swirl."

"Ooh," Carol paused with her top scoop pressed against her lips. Then she mumbled, "I want to try that one next. Can we go now?"

The actual joke there, was that she was only half kidding. Either way though, it actually elicited a rare, full grin, from Daryl.

So the joke was absolutely worth it.

"Tomorrow," he chuckled with a shake of his head, "I'll take you out tomorrow after dinner. We'll go for dessert." And when Sophia piped up with a worried, "me too, Daryl?" he reached over with his index finger to wipe a smudge of chocolate off her nose.

"Course darlin'" his lip quirked up, "I told you we couldn't have ice cream without your mama, and your mama and I can't have ice cream without you." He let his arm fall back with a nod, "we're a package deal."

Feeling another separate pull for that man _solely_ because of how he looked after her daughter . . . like she was his own . . . Carol gave his shoulder a light bump.

And when he shot her a side eye, she smiled and mouthed, _'thank you.'_ Of course his face got a little red at that, but as he dipped his head down to take another lick, she could see the faint amusement turning at his mouth.

Her eyes crinkled.

Then she reached over to put her hand on Sophia's back.

"Come on, let's go get in the shade before we just have ice cream puddles."

That got a faint murmur of agreement from Daryl . . . who was licking a minty green colored droplet off the back of his hand . . . so she led the three of them over to the patio and under the awning.

There, setup on the table, was already a tray with a pitcher of ice water, a few paper cups, and a stack of napkins.

Carol had brought them down right she'd gotten off the phone with Sophia.

So as the three of them settled into the wicker chairs, they were already setup with anything else they might need while they finished up their cones.

They still took a while to eat though.

The three oversized scoops, plus a full waffle, was probably close to a pound of food. Not that Carol was complaining, the stuff was _delicious(!)_ , it had just been years since she'd sat around like that, eating ice cream without a care in the world. And though she wanted to ask how their afternoon at the farm went, everybody was too busy licking away . . . trying to stay ahead of the drips . . . to really have an actual conversation.

Once they were all down to wiping their hands though . . . or in Daryl's case licking his fingers, an activity that Carol admittedly found a little distracting . . . she finally raised her eyebrow.

"So, how . . ."

But then to her surprise . . . Daryl cut her off.

"Darlin'," he leaned over and tapped Sophia's cheek with his index finger, "you got napkin bits stuck to your face there, so you might wanna go wash up," he shot Carol a look, "right, mama?"

"Uh, um," Carol stammered a bit as she looked curiously over at Daryl, then to her daughter, and then back to him again. But apparently he wanted to tell her something in private. And seeing the expression on his face, she had just gathered that it couldn't wait. So she gave him a quick, ' _got it_ ,' nod.

"Yes, right, honey you should prob . . ." she started, while turning back to Sophia.

But then she stopped.

Because she'd just taken a GOOD look at her daughter, and . . . she shook her head . . . Lord, she really was a mess.

"Actually baby," Carol reached out to give a light tug to the pink t-shirt, "you need to change this shirt too. You got chocolate all over it. Just fold it up, messy side in, and leave it on the sink. I'll get it when I come inside."

Fortunately the ladies had given her and Sophia a private bathroom all to themselves right next to their bedroom. So that made Carol feel less awkward about her daughter leaving dirty clothes lying around in there.

Even if was only just for a few minutes.

And she could hear her girl muttering a, "'k, mama," of agreement, while she continued to try and scrub away the bits of napkin Daryl had pointed out were stuck to her cheek. But after she got them rolled off, and flicked down onto the plastic tray, she hopped up, turned and started to run across the lawn.

Carol watched her go with a faintly amused eyebrow . . . with all that running, maybe she'd do well on a pee wee track team. But once she'd made it up the stairs, and the back door had slammed shut, her gaze shifted back over to Daryl.

He was polishing off a cup of water.

"Something happen today?"

She asked the question lightly, because she already knew that something had to have happened. Now she needed to know how serious it was.

"Hmph," he grunted while wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, "yes and no. And sorry for cuttin' you off there," he put his cup down on the table, "I just wanted to talk to you first before you asked Sophia that question. So anyway," he let out a sigh as he shifted around in his seat, "she had a good day. She did, she had lots of fun with the animals that she will tell you all about herself. And that was the majority of the afternoon. _But_ ," his nose wrinkled, "there was one thing towards the end with Theresa and Jack, that did stress her a bit. Just for a few minutes. I mean," he put his fingers up in a slight wave, "she was fine again long before we left, but I still wanted you to know about it."

"Right," Carol nodded, "okay, I appreciate that." Then she tipped her head and cupped her hands together, "so what happened?"

And so Daryl proceeded to tell her about having to go into the house for Sophia to go to the bathroom, and how things had started going on a tilt first because she was a little creeped out by how dark it was in there, and then how she was much _more_ creeped out by the noises Theresa started making upstairs. And then how Jack had come in and started getting emotional talking about Theresa's drinking, and so Daryl had hustled Sophia and himself out of the house.

Then he told Carol what he told Sophia about how Kelly Ann died.

And Carol listened to it all, feeling herself wince at her certain parts of this short little story, because her heart just ached for the pain of those poor parents. But by the time Daryl was done, after telling her how it was Sophia's idea for them to stay on and feed the animals before they left, she could see how he was looking over at her with kind of a worried knit to his brow. Then he asked the question flat out.

"You think I screwed it up? I mean," he shook his head, "you were absolutely right earlier thinkin' it woulda been best if you talked to Sophia before we left, because if you had, then I wouldn't have ended up having to do it and maybe it would've been better with you. Because you know," he shook his head, "I don't really always know what I'm doin' here with her."

Feeling her brow darken at how he was putting himself down, Carol reached over to take his hand.

"Come on now," she gently chastised, "you've been great with her from basically minute one. She adores you, and she trusts you, and my daughter has never trusted any man besides my father. And from everything you just told me, I think you handled today just fine. Nothing that you did or said, was really any different than how I would've handled it if I'd been there with you."

His eyebrow inched up.

"Really? You sure."

"Yeah," she nodded, "I'm sure. When she was scared, you made her feel safe, and you answered some hard questions honestly, but on an appropriate age level. And you helped redirect what you saw as her remaining concerns, into a positive outlet, by letting her help take care of the animals for Jack. And she was giggling even when she called me on the phone, so clearly she wasn't traumatized or anything. And honestly," she sighed, "given everything we went through back home, for good and bad, pain and sadness," Carol bit her lip, "those are emotions that Sophia is already very familiar with."

"Yeah," Daryl bit his lip, "I know. That's why I was worried about handlin' it wrong."

At that, Carol's eyes started to burn.

"Trust me hon," her voice started thicken, "just the fact that you care if you got it right, means you got it right."

The fact that he even _wanted_ to do right by her daughter, was more than her girl's father would ever be able to say. So really it was just another tick in that column, the one that showed just how good things might turn out for Sophia, if she had Daryl helping to look after her. Though Carol could see that the man himself, seemed a little embarrassed by those words. His eyes had dropped down.

And his face was a bit flush.

And she didn't want that. She didn't any awkward pauses inserting themselves back into their fledgling relationship. Because they'd had enough of those back in the city. But they'd been better since the hugging had been added into the mix. It was like all the stuff that they couldn't say . . . or it wasn't the right time yet to say . . . they could get across with the right kind of touch instead.

So she decided to try that approach yet again.

Given that she was already holding Daryl's left hand, she just reached over with her right . . . then she brushed her thumb along his lips.

The action definitely got his attention.

And when his eyes snapped up to hers in surprise, she let her fingers fall, as she gave his fingers a tug. He just looked at her for a second, before his expression softened.

They both came to their feet.

Almost immediately he took a step closer, and reached out to put his free hand on her hip. And she loved that he did that so freely now. It was more of the intimacy that she'd been missing for so long.

Bit by bit she was getting it back again.

And as he pulled her over to his chest, and she slipped her arms around his waist, she so badly wished that she could ask him inside. And that he could stay for dinner again like he did last night. But that wasn't possible. Not with the ladies home. It was their dinner table.

Not hers.

So as she felt him taking that breath which she knew meant he was about to say something about it probably being time to leave, she tipped her head back.

"Thank you for giving my baby a good day," she whispered, "and thank you for bringing me ice cream, and for remembering that strawberry was my favorite," her voice started to get husky, "you listen. And nobody's ever listened to me."

For a second Daryl just looked down at her, but then he brought his hand up.

"Well, that mighta been the case in the past," he murmured with a brush of his thumb along her jaw, "but not anymore. Because I listen to everything you say. It's all important to me," he gave her a firm nod, "'cuz it's all important to you."

Feeling her heart swell with something so much stronger than like, but not quite yet love, Carol had to close her eyes for a moment. Otherwise she would've just straight out burst into tears.

"I . . ."

She started to speak, but had to stop and clear her throat. But she could not get that lump out of there. So after a couple of swallows, she just gave up on words completely, and threw her arms around his neck instead.

And when he pulled her in close, and tipped his head down next to hers, she decided there was too much in her heart to say right then anyway. Because it would've just probably come out wrong. Too much or too little, or just too something. Like yesterday when she'd said, "happy enough." That had hurt him. And she would hate herself if she did that again.

Especially after what he'd just said to her.

Still though, she wanted to tell him something. Something simple. But something that she couldn't screw up. She took a breath.

And then she settled on something true.

"When I see you," she leaned in to breathe out against his ear, "my stomach fills with butterflies, and my heart feels happy. So you see," she leaned back to give him a watery smile, "even if I'm still working on being happy all the time, at least my heart's happy when it's with you."

At that, she saw a faint sheen cover his eyes as they lit up in a way that she hadn't seen before. And she knew that those had been the right words to say.

She hadn't screwed it up this time.

Then she saw him take a deep breath right before he pulled her back to his chest.

"You're gonna mess up my composure again," he grumbled while giving her a tight squeeze. And she started to laugh.

"Yeah well," her eyes crinkled when she tipped her head back with a faint sniff, "suck it up big guy."

He let out a snort, and then a chuckle right before he shook his head. And though she thought for a second that he might say something else, he just left it at a smirk. Then he patted her hip.

"Okay, I should get goin' so you can get back to whatever you were doing."

She shrugged.

"I was just chopping vegetables for tomorrow's meals. We're doing pot pies. But actually," she put her palm down on his chest, "before you go, could you do me a favor please?"

His eyes crinkled.

"Course sweetheart, what'd you need?"

"Well," her nose scrunched, "this afternoon when I was down in the lettuce patch," she threw a look over her shoulder, to the far end of the yard, "I saw a snake." Her eyes snapped back up to his, "a REALLY, big snake. And I need to get back down there at some point to finish the weeding but," her lips pursed before she added flatly, "I haven't left this end of the yard since then."

Though Daryl could have teased Carol a bit by pointing out that there was nothin' to stop that snake from slithering down THIS end of the yard if it wanted to, he bit his tongue. Because he could see that she was a little creeped out by the snake sightin', and he didn't wanna make it worse. So he just gave her a nod, as he rubbed his hand down her side.

"It's okay," murmured, "if it's still here I'll find it. Though I need to know what it looked like so I can tell if I just need my gloves, or if I need the hook."

Of course he'd only need the hook if it was something poisonous . . . but again, Carol didn't need to have that thought either.

"Uh," her nose scrunched again as she thought back, "it was black and thick, and really long. Long as in, if you were laying down next to it," her expression twisted in disgust, "the snake would be about a foot taller than you."

Yeah, she'd seriously almost had a heart attack when it had slithered past her hand. Instead she'd ended up falling back onto her butt before she'd jumped up, and had then just run FLAT OUT straight across the whole backyard, until she got back up to the top of the back stairs. Not that she actually felt the snake was 'chasing' her or anything stupid like that, but it was the _biggest_ damn thing she'd ever seen!

And it had really freaked her out.

Though as she saw Daryl's lip quirk up at her description, she had to imagine at least it wasn't dangerous.

A point which he confirmed a moment later.

"Sounds like it was just a regular rat snake," his eyes drifted over her shoulder to take in the full breadth of the yard, "they're harmless to people but," he looked back at her with a nod, "they do get pretty big."

"It slipped RIGHT by my hand, Daryl," Carol cut in with another shudder, " _RIGHT_ , by my hand."

"And I'm sure that was not pleasant," he soothed with a brush of his thumb down her cheek, "and I'm not gonna tell you not to let it bother you, because I know that's not helpful."

"Thank you," Carol nodded, "I appreciate that. Because whenever I saw a snake in the yard back home, if I even took a step away from it, Ed would just tell me I was being stupid." She scowled. "One time he even picked one up and threw it at me. I didn't used to really be that bothered by them before that happened," her hand came up to touch her cheek, "but it hit me in the face, and I screamed and," her jaw clenched as her voice faded, "he thought that was hilarious."

Though Daryl once more was lit with a spark of rage at that piece a shit husband of hers, he knew this was not the time to let himself fall into that again. There was nothing to be done about that anger, until he tracked him down.

Then accounts would be settled up.

So in the now, he just tried to help Carol through that memory, the best way he knew how.

With a story of his own.

"One time I came home from school," he cleared his throat, "and I went in my room to change 'cuz Momma would have a fit if I wore my school clothes to play. I was about six then. And so I go in the bedroom, and I go over and open the dresser drawer and right in the middle of what shoulda just been my play clothes, was a baby rattler all coiled up in my t-shirt. I yelped and jumped, like, pfft," he huffed, "clear across the room, and Merle came runnin' in then, laughing his ass off. So yeah," he gave her a look, "I get it. But I was luckier than you, 'cuz even at that age I was so used to snakes it didn't cause any kind of phobia." His lip quirked up before he added, "though I am still real careful when I go lookin' for clean boxers."

Carol let out a little snort at that, but then she quickly brought her hand up to her mouth.

"Sorry."

"Pfft," he rolled his eyes, "don't be sorry, it is kinda funny. It's been thirty-five years, so I really shoulda shaken that one off by now. But anyway," he took a breath, "back to the rat snake."

His attention shifted over her shoulder, and off to the hen house on the west side of the property.

"He was probably here for the chicken eggs. So," he patted her hip, "I'll go check there first. And," he looked back down at her, "if the biddies are okay with it, I can get some traps and put 'em out around the cool spots in the yard. Because it is that time a year when they're gonna get more active, so might as well get ahead of it."

Carol bit her lip.

"Okay, I'll talk to them but uh," her brow arched up, "will the traps kill the snakes? Because they might ask about that."

Personally she wasn't a proponent of killing anything without good cause, snakes included. But she was pretty sure from how Daryl's brow had just darkened at the question, that they were probably on the same page there.

"No," Daryl answered Carol with a firm shake of his head, "no, they won't kill 'em. The only good reasons for killin' an animal are if they're dangerous, or if they're dinner, and rat snakes are neither. And even with the chicken coop, the odds of getting anything more dangerous than that type of snake, this far into the town, are pretty low. The vipers usually stay off well into the trees, and I think I've only ever seen one coral in my life. And that was like ten years ago, and miles into the forest."

"Okay well," she let out a breath, "that's good to know. Because if I have to be scrounging around in the dirt here every day, I'd really feel more comfortable doing it knowing there was nothing down there that's going to kill me."

"No," Daryl's lip pursed as he shook his head again, "definitely no. But do always wear your gloves just to be safe, and be careful of the red ants, if you see any of those. Those bites hurt like a bastard."

Seeing Carol bite down on her lip, right before she took her hand off his chest, to point off to the right, he had feelin' she'd already spotted some red ants around the yard. And sure enough that action was followed right after by, "I saw a red ant hill over by that third peach tree near the back fence." Then she looked back up at him.

"Can we kill the ants?"

"Yeah," he snorted, "we can kill the ants. I got some spray in the garage that'll do it. I'll bring it over tomorrow night when I pick you up. And for now," he gave her side a final pat, before he let her go, "I'm gonna go get my gloves outta the truck, then I'll see if I can track down your buddy."

"All right," Carol gave him a nod as she brought her arms up to wrap around herself, "I'll get back to my carrots then. But don't leave without saying goodbye."

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Never."

Then he shot her a wink and turned to start walking over across the yard.

Carol watched him go until he got to the gate, then she let out a sigh . . . and started back into the house.

/*/*/*/*/

It took Daryl about twenty minutes to find the snake. Of course goin' on his 'chicken egg' theory, he'd started with the hen house. And he did actually find a length of freshly shed snakeskin out in back of the hutch there, but there was no sign of the snake itself aside from some squashed down grass. So from there, he had to follow its tracks through the yard. And this was one area where it was fortunate that snake was such a big sucker, because it left Daryl a nice path to follow through the grass and dirt until he lost him for a bit over in the denser part of the peach orchard.

Too many roots there.

That's when he started looking up.

And sure enough, the fifth tree he checked, there it was . . . big and black and coiled up in a shady spot right in the middle of the branches. And Daryl was REALLY glad his ladies were not there to see it. Because even by his standards, seeing a six foot long, eight inch wide, black snake, draped over a fruit tree, was not a pretty sight.

It sorta put you off fresh peaches too.

And it had itself so high up, he actually had to go over to the biddies shed and get a stepladder out to get the damn thing down. That was another production, because that creature was quite happy where it was, so it took a couple of swipes at his gloves before he got a good hold on it.

From there it was just a matter of carryin' it out to the truck, where he got it settled into the oversized cooler (with two tiny holes) he kept in the bed, just for the purposes of snake transport. Because this time a year, he got probably a half dozen calls a month from people who'd found something slithering around their house or property, that they did not want there. He charged twenty bucks to remove the harmless ones, and fifty bucks for the vipers.

In short, snakes were a real good money maker for him.

He even had a big rattlesnake and "live animal" painted on the outside of the truck cooler, so nobody got mixed up and tried to get a beer from there. Because that would be unpleasant. So once he'd got 'Carol's' snake into the container, he did what he always did then.

Relocation.

And fortunately the biddies' street did dead end, about a half mile down from the yellow house, in a nice big patch of woods. Now those woods didn't lead directly back into the forest proper, but he knew it was still a good three acres of thick tree growth, and little critters in there. Basically a perfect home for the big fella in the back. So after he parked the truck, Daryl scooped the snake out of the cooler . . . it was still pretty ornery . . . and the two of them went for a walk under that leafy canopy.

Twenty minutes later Daryl came back out by himself.

And about three minutes after that, he pulled up in front of the big yellow house again. Though that time he didn't head around to the back, because he found Carol waitin' for him out in front.

She was sitting on one of those wide wooden steps.

And behind her on the next one up, she had a glass of sweet tea, a curious little item wrapped up in metal foil . . . and a bottle of hand sanitizer.

She made him clean his hands before he did anything else.

The fact that no part of his hands, or any other part of his body for that matter, had come into direct contact with that snake, was of no import. Gloves or no gloves, she doused him good.

He just gave a good natured shake of his head.

But once that was done, he got to sit down there with her in the late afternoon sun, and have his tea, while she leaned against his side, and rubbed little circles on his chest. And that was pretty nice. It was one of those things that made him start thinkin' about what it would be like, if that was just how things always were. If he just got to come home and sit on the porch with Carol and have a cold drink.

Every day of his life.

The thought of it was enough to make him turn and press a kiss to her temple. And when he did that, he closed his eyes for a second because he got that fadin' whiff of the apple scented shampoo.

God he loved that shampoo.

And in exchange for the kiss, Carol cuddled a little closer into his side, as he finished off the last of his drink. It was when he was done, and the ice cubes were the only thing left rattling around in that glass, that she sighed and patted his stomach. That's when she told him what was in the metal foil.

An unbaked pot pie.

Miss Evelyn had said for Carol to give him one as payment for the snake removal. And to tell him that if he got rid of those red ants before they spread around the yard, he could have one of the Sheperd's Pies they were planning to make for Friday. He just huffed a bit at that, because they all knew he woulda taken care of the snake, and the ants, free of charge.

Just for Carol.

But hell, he was a lousy cook, and Merle was a worse one, so no way was Daryl going to turn down gettin' proper dinner THREE nights in one week!

That was a record set of meals for him.

So when Carol passed him the container with instructions on how to cook it that even he could follow, he took it gratefully. Then with a last kiss to his cheek and a final pat to the back, she sent him on his way.

The pot pie was delicious.

Then later that night, when she called him for the bedtime check in, after he told her the global news of the day . . . it was all just gettin' worse and worse of course . . . she told him that she'd found a book for him on one of the shelves in her room. And he snorted a bit at that, before remindin' her he wasn't really the 'book' type. But she told him this one he would like, she was sure of it. So then she started reading some bits from the middle of it. And to his surprise, it was actually written from the point of view of a dog. Which, (if told that up front), he woulda said sounded like it would be kind of dumb. But from what he heard, he really liked it. Then Carol told him the story was called White Fang, and she'd save it out for him to borrow the next time he came over. But then he suggested instead, that before they went to bed, maybe she could read a little bit to him each night.

If she wanted.

And he could almost hear her smile when she whispered back that sounded just fine to her. So he heard her flipping the pages back to the beginning of the story, and after she cleared her throat, he closed his eyes . . . and she started reading him chapter one.

Now just during a regular conversation, he loved to listen to her talk, but it was even better hearing her tell a story. Just her paintin' those pictures in his head of the dogs, and the cold, and the snow.

It was like she was there with him in his mind.

It was a good feelin', one that helped to wipe the ugliness of the news that day . . . the explosions and the fires and the attacks . . . all clean from his mind.

He had good dreams that night.

/*/*/*/*/

The next day when Daryl got up, he knew that he was gonna be tied up, pretty much all day, helpin' out Mr. Stevenson.

The old guy finally had to get one of those Rascal chairs to help him get around, and about a week ago he'd asked Daryl to build him a ramp for it. And so last Thursday, Daryl had been out there at the house doing the measurements, before he'd gone over and put in the lumber order, at Luke's Hardware. It was a special size load, so the wood had just come in on Tuesday when Daryl was out at the farm.

So first thing on Wednesday morning, Daryl went downtown to pick it up.

It was a hell of a lot of wood though, so he spent the rest of the day cutting and measuring and hammering to get that ramp put together just right.

Because Mr. Stevenson was real particular about how he liked stuff.

But Daryl knew that was 'cuz, up until VERY recently, that old man had been able to do everything he wanted, just the way he wanted it . . . because he did it all personally. It was just the last six months or so that his age had finally started catchin' up with his body. And it had made Daryl kind of sad to see it.

Just that reminder of how quick your physical self can go, when it starts to go.

So even though the old man was a little cranky while he was workin', he didn't take no bother from it. He just tried to put himself in that position, and did a lot of 'yes sirring' and 'no sirring,' to get them both through the day.

Because Mr. Stevenson stayed out there with him the WHOLE day.

Just the two of them, half bakin' in the sun, half sweatin' in the shade, out in front of his house there off on Peaches Lane. The old guy was good though about keepin' Daryl in drinks. Kept tellin' him how important it was to stay hydrated. Otherwise you pass out and shit your pants. That was a new one on Daryl, but it clearly wasn't a theory he wished to test. So he kept guzzling down the water and tea that the old man brought out.

They had tuna for lunch.

Mostly though, they passed the social part of the day with Mr. Stevenson talkin, talkin, talkin', away. A lot of it was him tellin' stories from WWII . . . he'd spent eight months in Germany as a prisoner of war, that was pretty interestin' . . . and the other bits were just him pointin' out where he thought Daryl's hammerin' looked crooked.

Overall, Daryl had spent worse days earning a buck.

But then finally round about five, he'd shaved down his last rough edged guard rail and 'evened out' his last crookedly nailed, nail. That's when the old man grunted out a, "looks good, boy," and passed him over the hundred fifty bucks he was earnin' for the whole job, even though Daryl still needed to come back the next day to waterproof the thing. Mr. Stevenson said he wasn't bothered about that though. He said he trusted him to come back and finish up.

That he wasn't one of those _other_ Dixons.

Daryl had snorted a bit at that. Because the only 'other' Dixon left in the world . . . least as far as he knew . . . was Merle. And granted, Merle himself could certainly carry on that part of the family reputation well enough all on his own . . . but he was still just the one asshole.

Not that he got into any of that with his employer of the day.

It was one thing for him to let other people badmouth his brother's work habits . . . those were just facts . . . but Daryl never had, and never would, participate in any _public_ condemin' of him. After all, he was still family. For better or worse.

Til death they did part.

So Daryl just took his money with a wave and a, "see ya tomorrow," and went on his way. Fortunately he still had plenty of time to clean up before he needed to pick up Carol and Sophia.

Ice cream was scheduled for six-thirty.

So he had enough time to get back across town . . . coincidentally skirtin' by the biddies on the way . . . to get over to his place and take a piss and a shower. Still though, by the time he had himself in clean clothes and got some less grimy boots on, it wasn't even quarter til six. Then he remembered he should probably actually eat some dinner.

Ice cream was supposed to be dessert.

The problem was, he didn't have any damn food in the house. He'd been planning to go the Piggly Wiggly over the weekend, but then just never got back in town. And since then he'd been busy. But he knew he had to make some time though to get over there, 'cuz the milk was gone as of that morning, and the cabinets were now down to the emergency box of mac and cheese, and a couple cans of Dinty Moore beef stew. He wasn't in the mood for canned stew. And mac and cheese without milk, meant mac and cheese made with sink water.

And that shit was just gross.

So after he'd snatched up his keys, and the cash he'd gotten from his day's work, he headed out to the garage to get the ant spray for the biddies' garden.

He didn't wanna forget to drop that off.

But once he had it in the truck, he took for what passed as 'downtown' in a place you could walk from one end to the other, in less than a day. That was essentially the one half mile long Main Street, with Woodside Place crossin' over the center of it. Woodside Place was where most of the business were located.

Like Luke's Hardware, for instance.

That's also where you found all the 'food shops.' And there admittedly wasn't a huge variety of them in town, but they did have the diner (which would take too long this time of day), one half decent Chinese/Thai place run by a couple of brothers from Chicago (they were like Cambodian or something), and three pizza/sub sandwich shops of quality varyin' from, "good," to, "well, they're open." And figurin' he didn't wanna be too stuffed for the ice cream, as he was rolling down Main Street, Daryl decided to just get a slice from Gennaros. They had the best pizza, and he figured if he was still hungry after he dropped off Carol and Sophia, he could just grab a sub on the way home.

Provided they didn't stay out too late that is.

Because everything but the Road House, Gilly's and The Vulcan, (the local bars) all shut down between eight and nine o'clock. And in weeks past, if he was still hungry after hours, Daryl probably woulda just gone out for a few Budweisers, and filled up on cheap popcorn and stale beer nuts. But these days he wasn't much for hanging out in a crowd. Even if it was a small town crowd. Not that he didn't feel safe here in Blackburn . . . he did. It was probably the only place left in the world that he could say that about.

And he hoped that whatever this violence was rollin' cross country, wouldn't change that.

Still though, goin' out had lost its appeal. Maybe because he'd rather just spend his free time with Carol now. And the more days that passed where he was able to see her . . . they hadn't had a break yet since they'd met . . . the more that's all he wanted. And he knew he was kinda riskin' his heart there, but he was okay with that. Because he knew she was riskin' hers too. And she and Sophia weren't going anywhere for months, if not longer, so he was just gonna enjoy this ride as long as they could make it work. Because less than a week in, and he already felt like maybe they might have a real chance at something.

And that was more than he'd ever felt for any woman before.

Case in point there, after he'd grabbed his slice from Eddie's, and gobbled it down in the truck parked out there on the less busy side of Main and Woodside, he started makin' more plans. Things to do that weekend.

Places he could take his ladies.

They definitely needed to see Black Bear Lake. And if they wanted, they could even do some fishin' there too. Or they could just walk around and he could show Sophia how to catch frogs. Or they could take a boat out and simply enjoy the day. Really, there was a lot of stuff they could do. And they didn't have to do it all at once.

He'd let Carol decide.

But in the now, as he polished off his last bite of crust and checked the time, he saw it was just comin' up on six fifteen. And it was eight minutes to the biddies, so he quickly sucked a stray smear of pizza grease off the backs of his fingers, wiped his fingers on his pants . . . and started off to the house.

It was six twenty-five on the dot when he knocked on the back door.

He actually timed that to work out exactly the way it did. Because he didn't wanna be annoying and show up too early. 'Cuz it had been his experience . . . and granted, his experiences were not 'vast' . . . that most women didn't appreciate it if you showed up before they were expecting you.

They might still be gettin' dressed.

But five minutes seemed a good solid time window, so it came as a bit of surprise when that door opened, and it wasn't Carol standing there waitin' for him . . . but Miss Evelyn.

"Oh," he tipped his head, "ma'am, evenin'. I was just here to pick up Carol and Sophia."

"Yes boy, I know," she said with a tired smile as she stepped back to let him in, "they're about ready. I think Carol was just fixin' Sophia's hair, with some ribbons we found upstairs." Her smile turned to a slight smirk then when she added, "that little girl wants to look pretty for your _double_ date."

Though he wasn't accustomed to havin' a personal conversation like this with anyone, let alone Miss Evelyn of _all_ people, Daryl's couldn't stop the faint twitching of his lips at that remark.

 _Double date. Good Lord, he'd gone from no woman to two!_

 _And they were BOTH too good for him!_

That was kinda funny. But Miss Evelyn didn't seem to have any issues with them all spendin' time together . . . which still perplexed him some, though he was just tryin' to accept it as a nice turn . . . because she just waved him off through the kitchen, and told him they should be in their room.

So with a wave and a thanks, he headed out into the back hallway, and down to the cheerfully painted bedroom, that he'd only been to that first night when he'd dropped his ladies off. But now, as he walked down that long hall, with his boots making a faint click on the hardwoods, he could hear the sound of feminine voices just ahead.

Carol and Sophia were havin' a conversation about Sophia's hair.

His eyes crinkled.

It seemed that the little one wanted it fancied up, but her mama was explainin' that they had to stick with the ponys instead of braids, because, quote, "Daryl's going to be here in a minute baby, and we don't want to keep him waiting."

Which he figured was about his point of entrance. So as he stopped in front of the half open door, he reached over to knock on the wall.

"Hey, everybody decent in here?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Carol happily answered Daryl back as she snagged the shiny doorknob with her fingertips, "we're dressed! Come on in!"

And Carol pulled the door open to see her man standing there in the doorway.

Which was when his eyes widened.

It wasn't until she said, "hey, hon," with a little smile, and he still didn't come inside or say anything back to her, that Carol suddenly remembered she was wearing one of the new outfits that she'd found in the trunk of donated clothes.

It was a dress.

Specifically, it was a sundress in sort of a seventies style, with thin straps, a fitted bodice, and a long, layered, skirt that came down to just above her ankles. The material is what she really loved though. It was a pretty blue and green with little pinpricks of starlight patterned along the floaty part of the fabric.

It was probably the first really pretty thing she'd worn since her wedding dress.

And the way the shear layer brushed against her legs, and the fitted bits clung to her chest, made her feel feminine and attractive in a way that she hadn't in years. But with Daryl still not saying anything about she looked, she started to get a little self conscious. And to worry that maybe she was overdressed.

And maybe he didn't know how to say that politely.

"It's not too fancy, right?" She asked with a worried brush of her fingers over the skirt, "Miss Evelyn said it was fine for ice cream, but I don't want to look silly or anything. Because I don't know anybody and I don't want people thinking I'm, you know," she bit her lip, "putting on airs or something."

And that was when Daryl finally took two steps inside the room and reached out to catch her fingers.

He folded them together with his.

"You look beautiful sweetheart," he whispered while leaning in to kiss her cheek, "and not too fancy at all." Then he leaned back.

"And there's not a lot a lot of social things to do in Blackburn, so there are always a few ladies wearin' their good clothes at the creamery for dates and such. Though," he tipped his head, "none of 'em are as pretty as you of course."

Feeling a hot flush hit her face, as a shy smile touched her lips, Carol couldn't help but shake her head.

"Now you're being silly." She murmured softy.

"Hmph," he leaned in again, that time slipping his arm around her waist as he pressed his lips to her ear, "I think not."

Those last words were hot against her skin. And with her now having to fight the desire to just drag the man off to the nearest broom closet . . . if the biddies even had a broom closet . . . Carol dipped her head down a bit to try and cover the fresh blush she could now feel crawling over half her body. But of course this one was more from her racing hormones than embarrassment at his praise. Though it _was_ pretty embarrassing to have hormones suddenly become a problem again at HER age!

Especially when it was in front of her daughter!

Though fortunately Sophia was distracted right then, because Daryl had just shifted his full attention over to her. Telling her how nice she looked with the pink ribbons in her hair, and the matching pink denim skirt that Miss Roberta had found for her at the thrift shop.

He told her she looked as pretty as her mama.

And when Carol looked over to see her girl beaming at the compliment, she found her own eyes sparking with warmth and happiness. Because Sophia had smiled more in her short time here in Blackburn, than she had probably for the last six weeks back home.

A lot of that had to do with Daryl.

If not for the time she'd spent with him, and the attention he showed her, Carol knew her baby wouldn't be nearly so far out of her shell by now. So when he asked if they were ready to go, Carol patted his chest.

"One second." Then she looked over to her daughter.

"Sophia, you had a big glass of milk with dinner, so you should try and go to the bathroom before we leave."

For a second Sophia just looked up at her with her mouth half open, like she was about to say that she didn't have to go to the bathroom. But then Carol raised her eyebrow, and she sighed.

"Yes Mama," she murmured with a scuff of her sneaker against the carpet.

Daryl let out a little huff at that, and when she walked by, he reached over to tousle one of her ponytails.

"Mama always know best, darlin'," he called after her.

Once her daughter had stepped out, Carol looked up at Daryl again, that time with a softer smile. Because though she had sent her daughter off because she really did figure she needed to go to the bathroom, there was also something that she wanted him to know.

So she patted his stomach.

"Sophia's been talking about you constantly since you brought her home yesterday," her eyes crinkled, "Daryl this and Daryl that. She thinks you leap tall buildings."

Feeling his cheeks start to redden a bit, Daryl tapped his fingers on his chest.

"Well, that's just silly," he murmured dismissively, though while still trying to hide his smile.

"No," Carol reached up to touch his cheek, "it's not silly. Because I think you leap tall buildings too. I told Sophia," she grinned as she let her hand fall down to the soft material of his shirt, "you probably have a flannel cape."

"You quit!" He snorted out as he looked away, rubbing at his cheek while he muttered to himself, "flannel cape." Then he finally let out a chuckle as his gaze snapped back to hers.

"You are a ridiculous woman," he murmured with another twitch of his lips. And her eyes sparkled at that.

"Maybe," she let out a little huff as she closed those last few inches so she could lean against his chest, "but with all the non-ridiculous women on the planet," she continued with a snuggle and a sigh, "you're the one that picked the ridiculous one to spend time with."

"Hmph," Daryl grunted back with a rub of his hand down her side, "well, I have been to prison six times. Clearly I make poor life choices."

That time he could feel the vibration of Carol's laughter against chest. And God did he love that. Actually feelin' her happiness that way. It was something he wasn't sure had ever happened before.

With anyone.

And so he tipped his head down, and pressed a kiss to her temple. She let out another sigh at that, right before she lifted her head. There was a little smile on her lips.

Though her eyes were soft.

"I really, really like you." She whispered. And his eyes crinkled.

"Yeah," he brushed his thumb along her cheek, "I really, really like you too."

And that was about the first moment where he wanted to kiss her so badly, that he was about to actually bite down on his own lip, just to distract himself. But then fortunately another (less painful) distraction appeared all on its own.

Sophia.

Flittin' back into the room, still fixing her skirt, while she sheepishly announced, "I did have to go, Mama."

And his lip quirked up as he took his hand off Carol's hip, and put it on top of Sophia's head.

"Perfect timing, darlin'."

Carol just laughed.

But now that Sophia's bathroom issues were addressed, they were ready to go. So Carol slipped her arm down from Daryl's waist, and walked over to pick up her new bag from where it was hanging on the closet door.

It didn't have much in it . . . an emergency tampon, a packet of tissues, and a little bit of money that Daryl had given to her, were really about it . . . but after all these years, it just felt weird to leave the house without a purse.

Even if they were only going out for ice cream.

And after she'd slipped the strap over her head, Daryl put his arm up . . . and she led the three of them out of the room.

It was a few seconds later, when they were walking into the kitchen, that Carol saw Miss Evelyn over at the stove, putting the kettle down on one of the burners. Not such a strange thing by itself, but for the fact that it was exactly what the woman had been doing the last time Carol saw her. And the time before that.

And the time before that.

Which meant that this new kettle of water had to be for Miss Evelyn's _fourth_ cup of herbal tea, just since dinner.

Carol couldn't even begin to count how many she'd drank since lunch.

"Hope you feel better," she murmured with a gentle pat to the older woman's arm as she walked by. And Miss Evelyn turned to give her a faint smile.

"Thanks sweetie. You all have a good time. And be sure to try a scoop of the peaches and cream."

"Yes, ma'am," Carol chuckled, "I will."

Then, with Sophia shuffling along ahead of her, and Daryl throwing a "g'night, ma'am," over his shoulder as he got the door, Carol threw a final wave off in the direction of Miss Evelyn.

"See you later!"

It wasn't until they were halfway down the steps, that Daryl looked over at her.

There was a bit of a pinch to his brow.

"What's the matter with Miss Evelyn?"

"Uh," Carol's nose scrunched, "she's had a bad headache all afternoon so she's been drinking all kinds of herbal tea. She thinks it's probably just allergies or something. It is that time of year though," she stepped down next to him on the grass, "right?"

"Hmm," Daryl murmured as his eyes drifted back up the staircase, "I suppose."

Then his attention snapped back to Carol.

"But if it seems like she's got more than a headache, you let me know, okay?"

Feeling a little itch of worry at the base of her skull, Carol turned to look up at the house, before she looked back at Daryl.

"You thinking the flu?" She asked with a not at all veiled, pitch, to her tone.

But he quickly shook his head.

"I ain't thinking nothing sweetheart, just," he reached out to catch her fingers, "it's just good to pay attention, is all."

"Hmm," Carol murmured softly as they started walking along towards the gate, "so you're not worried?"

His lip quirked up.

"Naw," he shook his head, "I was just asking a question."

"Okay then," she gave him a little smile, "if you're not worried, I'm not worried."

They had just reached the gate then, so Daryl reached up to get the latch, before he opened it and let Carol and Sophia step through into the side yard.

He didn't follow straight after them though.

No, instead he paused for a second, half in and half out of the backyard. His eyes were locked up on that back door they'd just come out of . . . and he was thinking. But then he heard Carol call his name, and he murmured back, "yep, coming, sweetheart," as he let out a slow breath. Then he finally turned to go follow after his girls.

The gate slammed shut behind him.

* * *

 _A/N 2: I figured before everything implodes, they deserved to have one nice little homespun country date night where Daryl got to take his ladies out and Carol got to wear something nice for the first time in years. And you can see a picture of her sundress on the Tumblr post. It's actually REALLY pretty (and only fifteen bucks), but it was hard to do it justice in the description. I found it by putting in 'blue bohemian sundress' because the bohemian style is definitely how MM seems to dress most often in real life so I knew it was something that "Carol" would look good in too. Side point to that, MM always looks so cool in these funky outfits that you're like 'yeah, I could never pull that off' :)_

 _That scene of Daryl standing in front of a farmhouse and him not realizing it was a walker in the window, was an image with me from before I started the story. The idea of it creeped ME out so much, I knew that was a key scene for later. Because you're like "DUDE! GET IN THE TRUCK!" and he just waves :) It was the wave that I thought made it just perfectly, awful. And then the after bit with Theresa on the porch, came to me specifically because I was trying to find a way to save the animals. Seriously :) One of you, my dear friend C, knows my trauma on this one. I felt sick about having to butcher my poor little farm animals, that I had JUST named and Sophia was JUST kissing noses with! I know it's crazy, they don't exist, but I still was just, 'ugh.' But if I had cut the scene with the walker still IN the house when they left, I didn't see a way around it. Because eventually it would figure out the doorknob, and those animals were going to be the closest warm meal in the area. But then when I was writing it out, I could picture it, and I was like, oh if Daryl REVS the engine, (LOUD NOISE), that should be like a dinner bell for the walker. So walker stops stumbling around, immediately goes for the door, fumble, fumble with the handle, and then follows after the sound of them driving off down the long driveway. THIS way, it draws Theresa away from the animals (these ones anyway, that have names), and it officially sets in motion this rippling destruction of the town. But of course odds are good that if Theresa already picked up the virus, others did as well. Also, we know she was already symptomatic when she went to church. So we shall have to see how Miss Evelyn's "headache" turns out. Could just be the pollen! ;) And yes I know, Jack's status is still unclear. Clarity will come._

 _Otherwise, a little bit of Dirty Joke Carol, (which is SO canon), peeking out :)_

 _The line from Carol of not wanting to kill anything without good cause, was purposeful. Given her later 'activities' in canon, it's clear she has also operates with her own code, so just laying some groundwork here for that type of decision making to come later._

 _Daryl's thoughts on animal killing, I don't know if he's ever articulated that clearly, but I feel like those would be his simple rules on that point. You respect nature and you don't waste resources for vanity._

 _Lastly, it's now been a little over twenty-four hours since 'Walker Theresa,' stumbled out of her house about five clicks outside of town. Where has she been and what has she been up to, are questions that will be addressed the next time around. So basically, all hell will start breaking loose in the next chapter. Until then, danke and auf w_ _iedersehen_ _! :)_


	15. The Last, Dark, Step

**Author Notes** : Hello :) It's been a couple weeks, but I have been writing. I've actually been very busy lately though, so whenever I'd start writing, my brain would be tired and I'd just keep going and going and then finally I got a little rest and I stopped and looked at the MONSTROSITY of what my tired brain had been writing, and it was like I was in a mental hospital just free form scribbling on the walls with no beginning or end to the ramblings. Kind of like this :) So, I got a _nap_ , regrouped, and started building some structure into the insanity. This is a portion of the original insanity, because the chapter had to be cut or it would have officially counted as a manifesto. When I posted last time, I had planned to take _this_ chapter to a later scene (you know when I'm working towards a specific arc), but these earlier scenes ended up coming out with much higher words counts than I'd planned, so that's why I had to roll it back to where we do end. I think you'll still be pleased with the ending ;)

You can tell from the title here though, things are tipping to the new world order. But if you enjoy the nicer romantic/domestic parts, we have more of those below because we're not at full chaos yet. Think of it more the frog in the pot of water, that doesn't know the heat's slowly been getting turned up the whole time it was in there. Our trio of course is the frog, and the water is now about to boil over. So when you're reading the 'nicer' scenes, please watch for the undercurrent. More at the end on that.

* * *

 _Wednesday Night_

 _Day 7_

 **The Last, Dark Step**

For the ride over to the creamery, Daryl took the same route from the biddies' house, that he did when he brought Sophia out to the Applebaums the day before. But of course it was the same stretch of back road they were headin' for. The only difference being that Jack's place was on the far end of Rural Route Four, and the McClellan's Creamery, was about five miles further in.

Just on the outskirts of town proper.

The creamery was actually the first of a half dozen or so farms that ran down both sides of those five miles of road. And the McClellan's place was the largest farm by far, given how they had the family house, the open acres of pasture big enough for thirty cows to graze, the two barns big enough for thirty cows to live, and then lastly the building where they processed the milk, and made the ice cream itself.

Then after all that, there was the open lot out front.

That's where they actually sold the final product. It was a stand sort of like the size of a Dairy Queen setup of similar purpose, with two registers set up at the concession windows on either end of the structure. And there was space enough out in the front part of that dirt lot, for about twenty cars to park there at once.

They marked out the parking rows with those vertical plastic reflectors.

And though peak time for ice cream was June to September, it got so damn hot around there, that place was hopping pretty much seven days a week, starting from May, and going through October. It was around mid July though, that those cars and trucks would be lined up all along that stretch of shoulder on Rural Route Four. That was the time of year when twenty parking spots stopped bein' near enough to cover the McClellan's nightly business.

But as Daryl drove the truck into the creamery lot that Wednesday night in late May, twenty spots seemed just about right for the current customer flow. Because he could see a half dozen open ones scattered around the parking area.

He pulled into one over on the left, down three from the back.

Closer to the road.

It wasn't so much that he was antsy about the small crowd he could see at the counter . . . he knew all those people . . . it was more that he'd never much liked socializin' with folks generally. When he went out anywhere, he preferred to just get in, get what he wanted, and be on his way.

Ice cream was no different.

Though his lips did twitch a bit when he was helping Carol down from the truck, because all she could talk about was how cute the whole setup was. Apparently her daddy and mama used to take her to a place similar to this back when she was little.

But they'd had to drive about an hour to get to it.

Which was about the point where Daryl realized he still didn't know where in the hell Carol had grown up. Because her accent was a little different than his. Not just that it was more educated . . . she did go to college for a couple years . . . but it was something else about it.

He wasn't actually sure if she was a native Georgia girl or not.

It didn't make any difference to him of course if she had Georgia blood, but he was a bit curious where she'd come up from. And so when he felt her slip her fingers into his, he made a mental note to ask her later that night during their bedtime call.

Place of birth seemed a good topic of conversation to end the day.

For now though, with Sophia happily skipping along, kicking up the dirt directly in front of them into tiny clouds of dust, he took the time to lean down and whisper in Carol's ear.

"You are a stranger here sweetheart, so just remember, people are going to look at you. Some of 'em might even whisper a little bit. It doesn't mean anything except they're all just nosy. You can smile back or not, your call. Makes no difference to me. Just don't let 'em bother you," he squeezed her hand, "okay?"

"Yeah," she bit her lip, "okay."

All right, and NOW she was feeling nervous! Two seconds ago she was fine, because she'd kind of forgotten that this was her first trip out anywhere into town, so literally NOBODY here had seen her before. And that was in a town where everybody apparently knew everybody, up from birth through to death. Now here she was all fancy in her fluttery blue dress.

Like she was there just looking for more attention.

And considering that . . . what people might think of her . . . Carol suddenly felt a real flood of genuine social panic wash over her. Enough actually, that she almost told Daryl she was going to go back and wait in the truck while he and Sophia went up to the windows. But then she looked across the parking lot, to the dozen or so people already standing in line up ahead of them, and she realized that nobody there was really paying them any attention yet. They were all just standing around minding their own business, or talking amongst themselves.

That's when she saw that Daryl had been right about the 'dress code' too.

Yes, some of the men (and a few of the women) were wearing dirty farm clothes or grease covered uniforms, but there were others there who were dressed really nicely, in their creased trousers or flared mini-skirts and slinky tank tops.

One of the younger girls even had on what looked like three inch, red, pumps.

And seeing that, was enough to make Carol realize that she was being stupid. She was just getting an ice cream, not going to a State Dinner. And really, how did she expect to do this whole 'starting over her life thing,' if she couldn't even manage a simple little country outing like this?

And with Daryl right by her side, no less!

He wasn't going to let anyone be _mean_ to her, that was for sure. And aside from dumping a whole scoop of ice cream down her dress, that was really the WORST thing that could happen. Somebody would say something unkind and maybe she'd get her feelings hurt. As if a few hurt feelings would ever compare to the abuse she'd suffered in her life before.

There was no comparison.

Still though, even if she had finally accepted that there was no reason to be so anxious around this small town group, as Daryl walked them up to the end of the line, and they stopped just behind a young couple of maybe seventeen or eighteen, Carol did find herself squeezing his hand just a little bit tighter. But then he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "didn't I tell you you'd be the prettiest one here?"

And she found her heart aching at that.

Because there wasn't a smidge of guile or amusement in his voice. He was just telling her what he saw as the truth.

Even if he was clearly much too prejudiced on that point.

It was nearly impossible though, to feel any level of anxiety about how other people might be judging you, when you have a man like that. So as thanks for seeing more in her than she ever saw in herself, she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. Then she whispered against his skin.

"You're my best cheerleader, ever."

He huffed a little at that, before he let go of her hand, to slip his arm up around her shoulders instead. It was so casual the way he did it too, with his arm up high, and his fingertips just lightly tapping on her clavicle. It was like he didn't have a care in the world. And though she knew that wasn't true, because that man carried the weight of a lot of troubles on his shoulders, in that moment Carol realized it wasn't that he didn't have a care.

It was just that he was happy.

And it made her happy to see it. Because they were out in the world, and there were people all pressed in around them, and he was okay with that. That was even though she knew how stressed he was getting generally about the violence that had swept beyond just the cities, and was now rolling through the smaller towns too. That was something she was also getting stressed about actually, and it was a point that she wanted to talk to him about. Just what if, God forbid, the attacks somehow started in Blackburn too.

What would they do?

Not that she was going to bring that up now of course. Because now, here . . . she tipped her head over to rest against his chest . . . things were good. And they were quiet. And though she didn't want to be too 'familiar' with Daryl out in front of his neighbors, Carol still ended up putting her hand on his stomach as he tucked her a little closer against his side. Sophia was a few steps to their left, drawing pictures in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker.

It looked like she was making a house.

Then Daryl pointed to a stick lying on the ground a few feet behind her, so she went over and grabbed that. It was a much better drawing utensil than her sneaker had been. So as they continued to wait in line, she slowly sketched out a little scene in the earth.

After the house was done, she put in a couple of trees, and then a round ball with sunbeams shooting out of it up on the left . . . and three stick figures down in the front. A big one, a medium sized one . . . and a little one in between.

The little one was holding hands with both of the bigger people.

The sight of it was enough to make Carol's eyes burn. Because you didn't need to be Freud to read into her little girl's wish. But then Sophia started to draw something else, and when the shape (wobbly though it was) became clear . . . Carol began to laugh.

It was a horse.

Yesterday Daryl had warned her that daughter was probably going to ask for one. And she had, last night before bed. And though she had received a gentle, but firm, "no, we can't get a horse right now, Sophia, we have no place to keep one, or any money to feed it," it was obvious that her daughter's little dream was still alive and well in the dirt Picasso.

The other thing that was obvious to Carol, was the moment when Daryl made out the horse shape too. Because she heard him let out a snort, right before he shook his head.

"She is persistent," he muttered with a huff.

"Yeah," Carol laughed, "that she is." Then she was quiet for a second before she looked up at him.

"Think that's supposed to be us at the yellow house."

His eyes crinkled.

"Pretty sure," he whispered back, "see," he made a vague pointing gesture off to the side, "looks like she's putting fruit on the trees."

The picture was really sweet, especially how she had them all holding hands. The only "problem" (such as the word could be used) was that they weren't the only ones _seein_ ' the picture.

It was right there out to the side of the line, under the shade of the trees, for everyone to see while they passed by.

Not that there was anything wrong with that really, except for maybe people gettin' a little more of a glimpse of his personal life . . . and the nature of the relationships _in_ it . . . than he mighta otherwise preferred. But there was no part of him that would even think of asking Sophia to draw something else.

He loved that picture just as it was.

Even if he did have to hear three or four, "oh isn't that adorables," coming from the women moving up in the line behind him.

Actually . . . his attention suddenly bounced down to the watch on his hand . . . he wouldn't be listenin' to so many adorable if this damn line wasn't takin' so long. It had been a good eight or nine minutes since they got on the end of it.

Usually it was maybe five minutes even at peak time.

And then it turned out to be another _four_ minutes before they finally reached the counter. So that was almost fifteen minutes since they'd arrived.

There was definitely something up.

So after he'd put in his little group's order . . . an order which had already been decided on the way over in the truck . . . he commented on that. Specifically he asked Chuck, the creamery owner's nineteen year old son, where Matty and Tilly (the usual cashiers) were at. And Chuck, who was rushing around all alone filling up the ice cream orders, yelled over his shoulder that they hadn't shown up. And when Daryl said that was probably the first time he could remember both of them kids being out at the same time, Chuck paused in his runnin' around, to shoot him a look.

"Yeah," his brow wrinkled, "it's weird, man. They hardly ever miss work, and never both together. But they ain't answerin' their phones, and nobody's answering the house either. Pa's been calling since four."

That set off some warning bells in Daryl. And when Chuck's attention shifted back to filling up Sophia's chocolate cup, Daryl's eyes dropped down to his boots. Then he shook his head.

"What is it?" Carol whispered with a light brush of her hand down his arm.

"Just," his brow wrinkled, "that's real strange is all. The Tanner twins, Matthew and Matilda, they've been workin' here for a good five years covering almost every shift after school, saving up money for college. Now today, they both don't show up, and the whole family's outta touch. What could that be?"

"Well, uh," Carol bit her lip, trying to think of a plausible explanation for the behavior of two kids she didn't know, "well, maybe there was a family emergency or something."

That actually seemed very plausible, given that they _were_ both in the same family. But then she saw Daryl's brow turn at that, and she could tell he didn't quite agree on the plausibility.

"But there are six people in that house," he responded softly, "five of them old enough to use a phone, and nobody calls in for the twins, and nobody's answerin' there for," he shot a look down to his watch, "over _three_ hours now," His eyes snapped back over to hers while he gave a slow shake of his head, "I just don't get that at all."

Feeling another one of those tickles on her neck, like she had out at the yellow house when they were talking about Miss Evelyn's headache, Carol let out a slow breath.

"Well," her jaw twisted as she tried to get her imagination off where it wanted to go . . . a flu outbreak in town, "what about an emergency out of town? Do they have family outside of Blackburn?"

Daryl tipped his head.

"Actually, Louisa, the mother, she's not from here. All her kin's over in Maple Peak. They're even more remote than we are."

"Well," Carol patted his arm, "there you go. Maybe they had to go see somebody over there and got held up. And if they're that much more remote, maybe they have bad cell coverage too. It could all be really innocent."

"Hmm," Daryl hummed a bit to himself, thinking on what Carol had just said. Though that was just when Chuck walked back over to the window, with the first part of their order.

Carol's mix of strawberry and peach, and Sophia's chocolate with chocolate sprinkles.

And after he'd passed the cups over to Carol, Daryl immediately picked up the thread of his and Chuck's conversation again.

"So," he asked with a drum of his fingers on the counter, "anybody gonna check on the family? Make sure the place didn't burn down or something?"

Though if it had, for real, been a fire at the Tanners, the smoke woulda been blowing over the creamery hours ago. The place was only a couple miles down the road, and there was a light breeze coming from the west that night.

But then he saw Chuck nod.

"Yeah," the younger man said while passing over the last cup, his chocolate mint, "Pa said if he don't hear from anyone there by closing, he's gonna go see what's up."

"Mmm," Daryl murmured his agreement to that plan, "well, that's good at least."

It _was_ good somebody was definitely going down there, because truth was, he was kinda itching to go down there himself right now. But he didn't really have cause. At least not in the sense that he had business at present with the Tanners.

Not like Pat McClellan did.

If Daryl went down and knocked on that door, he'd just be insertin' himself into something that didn't technically concern him.

And round here . . . he let out a slow breath . . . that just wasn't done.

So as Chuck started tallying up their order on the register, Daryl made himself take another breath, and put the Tanner family to the back of his head. Because this was his and Carol's first real 'date,' like other people had. And he had _planned_ for this date to be a nice outing with his ladies. So there was no reason he should ruin it by worrying about why a couple of teenagers hadn't shown up for work.

They weren't his business.

Besides that though, if something was seriously wrong in that house . . . like if that whole family had suddenly been knocked on their asses with this God damn flu, which was _really_ the thought that was scratchin' at his brain . . . Pat would handle it. The guy had a good head on his shoulders, so he'd do what Daryl would if he found a houseful of sick people. First, he'd call the clinic, and then he'd call the sheriff.

Then it would all get handled from there.

The words were true enough for him to let it go. So with that, Daryl slid seven bucks over for the ice cream before dropping a fiver into the jar on the counter. Yeah, that was practically a ninety percent tip, but given how Chuck was workin' that counter alone, the kid was definitely earning his money that night.

Now that they had their ice cream though . . . again cups today instead of cones, less mess . . . as Daryl escorted the ladies away from the window, he debated as to whether they should just leave. Again, he wasn't much for socializin' with folks generally, plus now he had thoughts of that damn flu in his head. So at this point he was itching to just hop in the truck and head off down the road.

Like he and Sophia had yesterday when they'd picked up the cones.

Yesterday though they were goin' to see Carol. And today . . . his nose wrinkled . . . well today, he wasn't sure where else to go if they left. It seemed kind of a letdown to go straight back to the yellow house. But he wasn't up for any other kind of crowd now, either. The town common had wide open space, but this time of day you had your after dinner walkers. Old folks, and people out with their baby carriages, or their dogs. Or both.

And those were always the chatty types.

And he did so dislike chattin' with people. Case in point, outside of Chuck behind the counter, he'd only given one actual "hello" to anyone since he'd arrived there at the creamery. And that was to Mrs. Loretta 'cuz she woulda twisted his ear off he hadn't responded, out loud, when she'd said "evening" to him. Everybody else though, if he made some inadvertent eye contact with 'em, all they got was a nod.

Or a glare.

But given the creamery clientele that night was generally running on the "totally indifferent," or "friendly enough," when it came to his branch of the Dixon family, the glare was limited to one old battleaxe who regularly called him a "hooligan," whenever she saw him around town. She'd been doing it for thirty years now.

You trample ONE row of rosebushes when you're nine, and you're marked for life!

But anyway . . . he let out a grunt . . . with it now settled in his had that he had ZERO desire to see anybody else that night, he gave Carol's shoulder a light bump. And when she looked over at him, with her spoon half in and half out of her mouth, he jerked his chin towards the road.

"You wanna take your ice cream for a ride?"

Her eyes crinkled.

"Where to?" She garbled out over the bite she was swallowing down.

"Hmm," his jaw twisted, "I was thinkin' maybe the lake. This early in the season, hardly anyone goes out there this time of day. And it's real pretty when the sun starts to set," he took a minty lick off his spoon, while giving her a half shrug, "if you like that sorta thing."

The whole, 'romantic gesture' nonsense didn't feel so much like nonsense when it came to Carol. Still though, just 'cuz he was trying to get this stuff right for once, it didn't mean he was any better at it, than he ever was before. But he had to figure a sunset at the water, would work well enough to count for something.

At least count for effort.

And he could see from how Carol's lip had quirked up, that the effort was noticed. Then she shot him a little grin.

"As a matter of fact," she nodded, "I do like that sort of thing. And I haven't seen a sunset at the water in forever." Then she turned her head to call over to Sophia.

Once more she was skipping along just ahead, kicking up dust around her ankles.

"Sophia, we're going to go for a ride with the ice cream, so let's try not to get it all over Daryl's truck on the way, all right?"

When Sophia turned to look back at them with a happy nod and the standard, "yes, Mama," Daryl could see . . . even though she was barely twenty paces from the counter . . . that child already had chocolate ice cream all over her chin.

And that was with her using a SPOON!

Not that he gave a crap about her getting the truck dirty . . . that truck had to be hosed down regularly with bleach just for the normal crap he transported . . . but those ladies both had on their pretty new clothes. And he figured that chocolate ice cream was probably a bitch to get out of a dress like Carol's.

So with the three of them now just getting to the front of the truck, he cut ahead to go over and open the passenger's side door. Then he turned to Carol coming up behind him.

He passed her his mint chip.

"Put this in the cup holder please."

And when she looked up at him with a curious eyebrow, he jerked his head back in the direction they'd just come from.

"I'm gonna go grab some wet wipes before we leave. I think Sophia's gonna need 'em."

Though he'd seen Carol tuck some napkins into her purse while they were waiting on Chuck, it was clear looking at Sophia's face, that napkins were NOT gonna cut it when it came time to get her cleaned up. Really, she could give _Merle_ a run for his money on messy eating.

And that was saying something.

So with Carol giving him a grateful smile, and a "thanks, hon," while holding his mint cup in one hand, and her half strawberry/half peach in the other, he turned around to jog back up to the counter again.

It was maybe just forty paces in all from the side of the truck, to the far end of the hut. And that time he cut way around the line . . . it was getting longer, at least eight deep, and two or three wide . . . to go over to the closed register. Because even though nobody was working down there, the window was up. Which meant he could see in just fine to reach through to the open box of wet wipes.

They kept them there beside the extra straws.

At first he grabbed just two packets, but then he flashed on Sophia peelin' those sticky napkin pieces off her cheek yesterday afternoon, and he reached in to grab two more.

Plus another small stack of napkins.

So with Sophia's cleanup supplies now shoved into his pockets, he cut around the line again and started walking double time, back across the parking lot.

It was lucky it was so late in the day or he definitely woulda been workin' himself up into a nice sweat by then. As it was the sun had dropped enough, and the breeze had picked up enough, that he was actually feelin' just fine.

At least he was until he got about halfway back to the truck.

That's when he spotted somebody just ahead of him, gettin' out of his own pick-up, that Daryl really could've done without seeing.

Vernon Walker.

An old buddy of Merle's. Pure redneck through and through. Back in the day, him and Merle had gotten into more trouble together than Daryl could even begin to remember. But then about seven, eight years ago, Vernon met a girl.

Arlene.

And Arlene was, God bless her, built like a beanpole and homely as a hound dog. She wasn't too bright neither. But a real sweet thing, nonetheless. It was one of those situations where two people get together and you just shake your head in wonder. Because that jackass Vernon, who had NOTHIN' going for him, and really wasn't anything to look at himself . . . his eyebrows met in the middle, he was missing three front teeth and he had a beer gut on him like he was carrying twins for his thirteenth month . . . fell hard for girl. And somehow she fell for him too. Daryl was thinkin' maybe she was a little desperate to settle down for a family. But that sweetness in her, did get that knucklehead to clean up his act.

For the most part.

At the least, Vernon had stopped going to the bars, and he'd stopped going to jail, and he'd (mostly) stopped hangin' out with Merle.

But for the poker night they still had once a month.

The last one of those had been at the Dixon house, and though Daryl had stayed out of it . . . he'd actually stayed upstairs drinking cold beer out of a cooler and watching the Hornets game in his room . . . he was well aware of how badly that game of four man, five card stud, had ended.

In a brawl.

It had literally taken three damn days to clean up the house and patch up the holes in the kitchen wall. Daryl hadn't seen any of those poker playin' idiots since then. But given the look on Vernon's face, Daryl had a pretty good idea that game was probably the reason he was (fast) walking up on him now.

And sure enough.

"Your JACKASS brother still owes me three hundred dollars from that poker game!" He yelled out, while cutting over and stopping short in front of Daryl, blocking his way. And of course everybody in the vicinity (which was the dozen or so adults and children behind them in the damn line) turned to look now at the show now on display.

Daryl could hear all the murmuring going on behind him.

But forty plus years of living in Blackburn, this was hardly the first time he'd been dragged into something to do with Merle, when he was out minding his own damn business. So he just did what he always did.

Handled it.

"Well," he shot back with a hard poke to Vernon's chest, "then you best take that up with my brother, 'cuz it ain't no matter to me."

Then he kept walking, making a point to also give Vernon's shoulder a hard knock in the process of going around him. Because he didn't tolerate nobody gettin' up in his face about anything.

And Vernon damn well knew that.

Though he hadn't taken two more steps, before Daryl heard from behind him.

"What? You Dixon brothers don't even cover your DEBTS now?! You guys, fuckin' _welchers_?!"

At that, Daryl's eyes flashed black. And he spun around, stormed back, and grabbed Vernon by the scruff of his too tight, too short, _'Don't Tread on Me'_ t-shirt. Then he body slammed him into the side of his Chevy.

He jammed his forearm into his throat.

"Ain't my debt, _bitch_ ," he growled back, "and you need to watch your mouth and stop acting like a fuckin' drama queen. Your business is with my brother, and if you'd like to talk to him directly, first you need to borrow a pair of balls and then you need to drive on down to Jackson County Correctional. You can find him there for the next thirty or forty MONTHS!"

By the time Daryl was done spitting that into his face, Vernon looked about ready to shit his pants. Because in addition to being a dumbass, he always was a blowhard too. Shooting off his mouth to people (like himself) who he had no chance in hell of taking in a fight.

Half the time that's how he and Merle had ended up in the joint together.

And while he was standing there still doing a fine impression of wall eyed, opened mouthed bass, Daryl leaned in close, until he had his mouth right next to that jackass' greasy head.

It smelled like sour sweat and motor oil.

"And if you ever call me a welcher again," he continued on a hiss, "or if you come at me again about any debts of Merle's, I'm gonna knock out the rest of your God damn teeth."

He pulled back to catch Vernon's eye.

"You hear me, Vernon?" His voice hardened, "you and me, we got no business together. So you best remember that for the future."

"Yeah, uh," Vernon gave a hard swallow . . . hard enough that Daryl could feel his Adam's Apple moving against his wrist, "right, okay."

It was just then that behind them, a little voice started yelling, "LET GO OF MY DADDY!" And with a quick shot over his shoulder, Daryl saw the child attached to that voice was not even ten paces out.

 _Shit._

His head snapped back around while at the same time he yanked his arm off Vernon's throat.

"Only you," he muttered in disgust, "would be such a fuckin' idiot as to pull this shit in front of your kid."

When he hadn't seen the family right with him at the truck, Daryl had just assumed Vernon was there by himself picking up something to take home. But no, that quick glance had confirmed Arlene was there too. She was hurrying over from the direction of the bathrooms, chasing after a small little dark haired boy, who was coming up fast on them. That would be Vernon Junior.

Their six year old son.

And looking over to see Vernon _senior's_ eyes had dropped down to the dirt and his face had taken on a dark flush, it was clear to Daryl that he was embarrassed his son had seen him getting his ass owned right out in front of everybody. As well he should be. That was some humiliatin' shit.

That he'd brought on entirely himself.

But still, his own fault or not, Daryl really didn't like the idea of a boy that age seein' his daddy be made a little bitch. Even if it was his daddy's damn fault it happened, 'cuz he was _actin'_ like a little bitch. But either way, Daryl had his rules about these things. So rather than leavin' an ugly memory for that child, he added with a grunt.

"If you wanna pretend like we was just jokin' around, I'll let it play off and you can save face with your boy."

At that, Vernon's eyes shot back up to his, and Daryl added softly.

"But everything else I said stands."

And Daryl saw the other man take a breath, before he gave him a quick, grateful nod. Because they both knew about the only two people left in that town who thought Vernon was worth anything at all, were Arlene and that little boy. So it didn't matter if he'd just made a damn fool of himself in front of dozen Blackburnians, who will have repeated this story ten times over by tomorrow noon. No, all that mattered was that Vernon Junior didn't know what a loser his daddy was. There was plenty of time for that lesson to be learned later on in life.

There were lots of years to come.

So Daryl took a step back and let Vernon straighten up and fix his shirt, pulling it down as tight as he could over that gut of his.

There was still an inch of hairy belly sticking out the bottom.

That was normal though. Because then he out a loud, awkward, bark of a laugh, while he reached out to clap Daryl on the shoulder. Daryl then resisted the urge to shove him back into the truck.

Face first.

Instead he turned to say hello to Arlene, who had a very worried eyebrow on that poor hound dog face of hers.

"Everything okay, here?" She asked a bit breathlessly, while her pale green eyes (her only nice feature) shot back and forth between Daryl and her husband. Vernon then immediately let out another phony laugh and a "course puddin', we was just having a little horseplay. Daryl got the best of me, is all." After that, he reached down with a grunt and hard exhale, to swing his son up off the ground.

He shifted him back on his hip.

"Junior," he continued on, still a little too brightly, "you know Mr. Daryl, you say hi now."

When there was nothing forthcoming from "Junior" besides a hairy eyeball, Daryl took the lead.

"Hey, buddy," he murmured with a tip of his head.

Still though, that boy just continued to stare over at him with a shrewd little look. Shrewd enough that Daryl started to wonder if maybe he was the milkman's boy. Because he seemed way smarter at six, than either of his parents were at forty.

And that was something Daryl respected . . . a child who was not goin' to be bullshitted. He'd seen him pinnin' his daddy against the family truck, and that was that. Horseplay or not, in his little mind there was no just cause. And from the look on his face, Daryl was quite sure he'd now made himself an itty bitty enemy. He bit down a snort.

Probably the only one in the family he could consider a worthy foe.

For now though, the Walkers had delayed him enough for one day. So after he'd shifted his attention over to give Arlene a proper goodbye, he shot Vernon Senior a look, and finally his eyes shot back to Vernon Junior.

He got a wink.

Then Daryl turned to go on his way back to his own truck.

There was another surprise comin' his way first though. Because right there standing not five feet away . . . in the middle of the open dirt parking lot . . . was Carol. With her arms wrapped around herself, and an expression on her face that Daryl couldn't read at all. His eyes immediately sought out Sophia then, but a quick glance behind her mama, showed that little girl another ten paces back, sitting over in the passenger seat of his Ford. It looked like she had her head down into her ice cream cup.

Small favors there.

Because that left just Carol. But not knowing how much she'd seen (or heard), of what had just happened with Vernon, Daryl had a worrisome thought. That maybe she could be thinkin' _he_ was the instigator there. That he'd grabbed that man and smacked him up against the truck with no provocation at all.

And that was not likely to be behavior that'd get her stamp of approval.

So when he started walking over to her, it was with a small pit in his stomach. Because next to Sophia, Carol was the only person currently alive in the world, that he cared whether she thought badly of him.

God help Vernon if he'd fucked things up.

And when he stopped short in front of her, he asked the most important question first.

"How much of that did you hear?"

His voice was very quiet, because he was afraid of anyone else hearing their conversation. The line was some distance behind them, but there were still people coming and going from their cars.

Basically there wasn't a hell of a lotta privacy.

Then Carol reached out to take his hand, and he felt even more on display.

"I heard all of it," Carol answered Daryl with a little squeeze of his fingers, "I started over when I heard that man yelling at you about Merle. And I was standing right here when you slammed him against the truck."

Seeing how he winced at that, her expression softened.

"It's okay," she whispered, "I know he provoked you. He was being a jerk. Which is why I ran over."

For a second she paused to throw a quick glance off to the line of people waiting for ice cream, trying to look like they weren't paying any attention to her and Daryl. Her eyes darted back to his.

Even though they totally were.

"I just didn't like him talking to you that way in front of everyone," she finished in the same soft tone.

Daryl bit his lip.

"So you came over just for support?"

"Of course," she answered seriously, "would you just stand across the way if somebody ran up and started in on me about something in front of a crowd?"

The corner of Daryl's mouth twitched as he slowly shook his head.

"No," he answered with a soft exhale, "I can guarantee in that situation, that is not what I would do."

Actually, if anyone had come up on her, the way Vernon had come up on him, Daryl knew he woulda hit the roof. And probably knocked the asshole out.

Just for using a harsh tone with her.

"Well," Carol tipped her head, "it's the same for me. Though," her eyes crinkled a bit, "if he took a swing at you, I'm not sure I could've done much, because obviously I'm not quite in the same position to protect you, like you could me."

At that, Daryl shook his head.

"I wouldn't want you gettin' in the middle of anything anyway, sweetheart," he murmured while reaching out to pull her into a hug. "It's enough," he continued with a whisper in her ear, "that you just didn't want me to be alone."

It might have seemed like a little thing to some, but it was more than he'd ever gotten from anyone before. Usually it was just the world, and Merle, constantly in his face, or kickin' him in the ass.

And him just pushing back all by himself.

But now, in that moment where he felt Carol snuggling in against his chest, right there with no shame about anyone in town seein' her with him . . . and there were definitely eyes on them, of that he was sure . . . Daryl realized that really wasn't the case anymore. He really had his own person.

And that was a first.

Which was right when she murmured against his chest.

"It was also very sweet of you to let that man try and joke everything off so he wouldn't look so foolish in front of his little boy." Then she tipped her head back to catch his eyes. "You're like one of those hard chocolate bunnies, with a gooey marshmallow center."

He let out a snort then as his lips started to twitch.

"You gonna bust my chops now?" He murmured, and she shook her head.

"Nope," she whispered back with a wink, "I'm done."

Then she put her head back on his chest.

Which was when he once AGAIN took note of just how very much she and he, were the focus of a -buncha people who shoulda been minding their own damn business. And though Daryl very much wanted to yell those exact words over to them, he knew most of the folks meant no real harm. There just wasn't much ever going on in Blackburn.

That's why they were all at the Goddamn creamery on a Thursday night.

Also, considerin' how he hadn't been seen around town with a woman in some years, it probably wasn't such a surprise that him being out with one now . . . with them in full contact no less . . . was causing a bit of a ripple. Then he figured as long as there was already a ripple, he might as well toss another stone in that pond.

So he cupped his hand around the back of Carol's neck . . . and yelled over her head.

"Her name's Carol! And yeah, she's my girl and she's got a little daughter, and you're gonna be seeing us around town together! So you can quit starin' at her now!"

Hearin' Carol's snort against his chest, Daryl's attention dropped down to see that she was laughin' so hard, she had tears forming in her eyes.

Though her face was also turning a light shade of pink.

Which meant it was likely he'd also embarrassed her some. A point confirmed when she half moaned, "I can't believe you _did_ that!"

"Yeah well," he let out a grunt as he rubbed his hand down her back, "it ain't their business, but that doesn't mean anything round here. This way," he started walking her backwards, "maybe they'll just move on to the next thing a little faster. Now come on," he murmured while shifting her under his side, "we need to get goin' before Sophia finishes those three scoops of hers, and starts in on ours."

"Oh Lord," Carol's eyes shot over to the outline of her daughter through the truck window . . . she still had her head down digging into her cup, "we can't even joke about that. That child is _addicted_ to ice cream. It was something I could hardly ever get for her, so she's always gobbled it down like a little squirrel storing food for the winter."

"Hmph," Daryl tapped his fingers on Carol's arm as they walked around the engine block of the Ford, "that is an image. And I ain't rich, but as long as you two are up here," he stopped them in front of the passenger door, "I can definitely keep that child in chocolate ice cream."

Feeling a stirring of warmth in her chest at such a sweet, simple, offer, Carol reached up to brush her fingers along his cheek.

"I can see your plan now," she said with a little smile, "you're going to spoil us rotten so we'll never want to leave."

Daryl's lip quirked up.

"What?" he shrugged, "she likes ice cream. And you like strawberry wine coolers," he leaned down to whisper in Carol's ear, "so you will now have access to an unlimited supply of those."

Carol started to chuckle against his throat.

"Are you trying to give me a drinking problem?"

He leaned back with a smirk.

"If you can develop a drinkin' problem on six ounce bottles of fruity malt liquor with a three percent alcohol content, I'm gonna be mighty sad for you."

Seeing the way Carol grinned up at him for that, he was just relieved that the little things they enjoyed in life . . . ice cream, cheap wine coolers and story books, that was his list so far . . . were things that he could afford to give them. Because he planned to take care of his ladies the way they deserved to be taken care of.

He'd make sure they were happy.

Case in point, seeing as he and Carol were now, finally, basically shielded from the rest of the customers at the creamery . . . they were standing between his pickup and Donnie Larsen's shiny new jeep . . . he leaned down to give Carol's ear one quick nuzzle. And he did that because he loved to hear how her breath caught right before her breasts arched into his chest, and her nails dug into his back.

It happened, EVERY time.

It was a physical reaction that he took as a VERY positive sign for future physical activities. One's involvin' more than just a little bit of ear contact! And in the meantime, he pulled back to give her a wink, and he got one of those flustered blushes of hers in return. He loved those too.

God willing, they'd be burnin' down the mansion in no time.

For now though, he just patted her hip, before reaching behind her to open the door. Then he helped her up onto the bench seat and brushed the flowy bit of her skirt behind her calf.

The last thing he heard while the door was slamming shut was, "Sophia Rose, are you eating my strawberry ice cream?"

He started to laugh.

/*/*/*/*/

After they pulled back out onto Rural Route Four, rather than taking a left and going past the farms to get out to the lake, Daryl decided to take a right. That took them back to town proper, which was the LONG way around to the water.

It added another twenty minutes or so to what woulda otherwise been a ten minute ride from where they were.

But it was the first time he'd taken Carol out in the truck since he'd brought her to town, so he wanted to show her where his house was just in case she ever needed to find him. Because with all that was goin' on in the world, and possibly right there in the biddies' home base . . . God was he PRAYING all Miss Evelyn had was an allergy headache(!) . . . he just didn't like the idea of her and Sophia not being able to get right to him in an emergency.

Of course though, when they got over to his part of town, sweet thing that she was, Carol immediately started in on how much she liked his neighborhood. About how pretty it must be living there right up against the forest.

And how it must be beautiful in the fall.

His eyes crinkled a bit at that. Because it actually was quite pretty there when the leaves started to change. With her saying that though, he learned something else, something _new_ , that Carol liked specifically about the area.

The trees.

Sophia had mentioned too, how her mama liked the quiet. So if Carol decided that she wanted to stay in Blackburn longer term, he could definitely find her a place right by the woods. And maybe he'd find himself a place close by there.

A place without Merle.

Because the more time he spent with Carol and Sophia, the more his brain kept comparin' his time with them, to the time he spent with his brother. How happy and bright, life was around the ladies, and how dark and miserable things always were around Merle. So the more Daryl thought on it, the more the idea of just him and Merle alone, rotting away together in the family house for ANOTHER forty years, waiting to see who croaked first, seemed depressing as hell. Really, that future had _always_ been depressing as hell . . . he just never let himself think on it much before.

Otherwise he probably woulda put a shotgun in his mouth by now.

Because the ONLY thing going for him stayin' on with his brother, was that house was paid for free and clear. All they had to pay was property tax on the land, and that was literally, five dollars and seventy two cents a month.

It was hard to beat that.

But if he put his welding license to good use, and got himself a proper job (once things settled down of course), even if he had to drive a town or two away to find something steady, the money he could make would spread pretty far in a small town like his.

 _Then_ he'd be able to afford to get that place all his own.

See . . . he let out a slow huff of air as he slowed down for a turn in the road . . . now _these_ were the kinds of ideas that Carol put in his head. Though he knew she had no idea that was the kind of influence she had on him. It was just that until he'd met her and Sophia, he'd never really considered a life any different than the one he'd been living. But with Merle likely going off to prison again, for a long stretch now, this was probably a good time to start thinking about maybe making a bit more out of his life. Even if things with Carol didn't go the distance, Daryl knew he still needed to break out of this God damn rut. He bit his lip.

Somehow.

But as the road beneath the tires turned from asphalt to dirt, he decided it was time to put a pin in those thoughts for now. Really, he was just gettin' ahead of himself. Because until the world stopped tilting the way it was, he needed to keep his head down and stay close to home. That was where it was safe.

The bigger plans could come later.

It was just then that the road . . . Rural Route Two . . . turned to the east and the first glint of water appeared out the windshield, as a shiny sliver of light cuttin' through the trees. And at that, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carol shifting in her seat and putting her ice cream cup down in the holder.

And then there was another turn, and few seconds later when the road finally closed in to wrap around the water, he heard an excited coo from the other side of the bench seat.

"Oh, hon, it's so pretty!"

And that actually gave him a little boost of pride. Because he knew then that he'd made a good choice in bringing them out there. So he continued on at a slow pace on the unpaved loop that cut around the west side of the lake, pointing out different spots to Carol and Sophia. Good places for fishin'. Good places for froggin'. Then of course, good places to avoid unless you want to run into the black bears the lake was named after.

Sophia got a kick outta that one.

In fact she was excited enough about the idea of actually seein' a real bear, ("like Pooh Bear" as she'd put it, though Pooh Bear wasn't equipped with razor sharp, face rippin' off claws, as he recalled) that Daryl was thinking he might take her back out there someday (stayin' in the truck the whole time of course) to see the bears up close and personal.

Though he would definitely need to clear that one with Carol first.

In the present though, they were finally coming up on where he wanted to be . . . the little picnic area under the old pines. There wasn't much to it, just that some years back, the town had cleared a path through the trees. And that left a wide swath of open, flat, land, from the road to the lake, where people came out in the nice weather, and put down blankets and lawn chairs. Then they'd have themselves a little picnic under the old pines. Hence the name.

 _Little Picnic Area Under the Old Pines_

There was even a sign and everything. And seeing that sign pounded in on the side of the road, Daryl pulled in next to it. There wasn't really official parking there, but there was enough of a shoulder that he was able to pull over completely into the brush where he set the brake, and turned off the engine.

He pulled the keys out.

It was so quiet then, that even though they were a good forty paces up from the lake, he could hear the faint lap of the water slapping against the rocks. But that mighta just been him. Because he was sorta tuned into that kind of stuff.

Plus he had really good ears.

Also, after a few decades of traipsing around in the forest, he had a pretty good sense for timing when it came to sunrises and sunsets. And they had pulled up right about seven thirty. Which meant that the settin' of that day's sun . . . he took the last spoonful of his melting mint chip . . . was just about to become official.

So rather than moving to get them all outta the truck, he told his ladies to hold tight there for a second and just look out the window. And it really was the perfect spot to see it all. Because the sky above was already going from purple to pink . . . and the color had started spilling over into the water too. And with the windows down, they could hear the sounds of the bullfrogs croaking, and the occasional fish splashing . . . and of course the cicadas buzzing.

Fortunately it was still early enough that the mosquitoes weren't out in force yet.

So they just sat there for the next ten minutes, watchin' the pink water until it started to burn to orange . . . and then finally a fiery red. That's when Daryl snapped back his seatbelt.

"Let's walk down to the water."

"Yeah," Carol murmured over to Daryl as she moved to undo her own belt, "that would be nice."

And once she had herself untangle, she was just about to reach over to get Sophia unbelted too, when she saw that Daryl was already pressing the silver button. Then he reached into his pocket to pull out one of the wet wipes he'd grabbed at the ice cream stand.

"Here darlin'," he said while ripping open the package, "your hands are sticky, so you best wipe 'em down good or you're gonna have a line of ants running up your skirt."

Carol's mouth quivered at the imagery as Sophia giggled out a, "you're silly, Daryl." But still of course she took the little white square from him, and started scrubbing at her fingers. And while she was doing that, he ripped open another package, to make quick work of wiping away the dark smidges from her chin and around her mouth.

It was such a small thing him cleaning her up, but still, looking over at the two of them, Carol's chest ached just seeing that. Because whether or not he even realized it, right then, Daryl was acting like a parent. Just like when he reached out to hold Sophia's hand now without even thinking, or when he sat down with her and worked on her math problems.

Those were the little things that weren't so little.

But he'd definitely been putting his cards down on that table since they'd met back in Atlanta. And clearly he had no hesitancies, about stepping up . . . and stepping _in_ . . . where it came to Sophia. And for all their sakes, Carol wanted to encourage that. Not only just selfishly for her own support . . . because GOD was it wonderful to finally have some support(!) . . . but it was also good for her daughter to know there was now another person in the world who cared enough to look after her.

And it was good for Daryl too though.

Because Carol could see, just in how gruff and grumbly he was with most everyone else she'd seen him interact with, that without her and Sophia around, the softer parts of his personality were probably mostly hidden away. And it made her sad to think about him walking around with those walls up all the time, not letting anybody in. And not ever letting anything out.

A person's soul could die living like that.

So she let him help Sophia finish cleaning up, with no assistance from her. Once they were done though . . . three wet wipes and four napkins later . . . Carol shot him a knowing little smile.

But he just shrugged.

"She was sticky."

That was all he said, before he turned and opened the door. And with her lips twitching . . . she was remembering from the city, how much he disliked sticky things . . . Carol turned to get out on her side of the truck.

Of course Daryl was already right there though, even before she got the door all the way open.

Then he was reaching up to take her arm. And as she was sliding down to the soft ground, she felt his hand press in hard against her stomach. It was just for a moment while he made sure she was steady on her feet . . . even with her Keds, the ground was a bit slippery with all the dead leaves . . . but it still sent a faint shock to her system. Because one of those fingers . . . she pretty sure it was the pinky . . . strayed just a tiny bit below her stomach, to warmer areas below.

It just enough of a brush to make her breath catch.

Funny enough though, for all of him setting her libido running, she was pretty sure he didn't even realize what he'd done. Maybe it was the layers of the skirt that threw off his perception, because all he did was murmur, "careful not to slip," before his hand fell away and he shifted his attention up to Sophia.

Then he reached in and lifted her out.

And while he was pointing down to the water, telling her daughter if she walked up quiet, that she could probably catch sight of a bullfrog, Carol walked forward and took a few steps to the right to stop under one of the pines. She just wanted a smidge of privacy to let that heat fade from her cheeks.

It actually didn't take long for that to happen though.

Because once she was standing there alone under the tree cover, in those crinkly piles of dried leaves and pine needles, she could feel her skin immediately begin to cool. She took a deep, full, breath and let it out. Then she did it again.

And again.

It was so late in the day that the humidity had faded, and her lungs felt cleaner with every breath she took in. She felt calmer too. Like she was watching one of those meditation videos.

The virtual reality kind.

But then hearing a slight crunch of leaves, right before she felt Daryl's fingertips brushing along her arm, she turned to give him a soft smile.

"I can see why you wanted to come here," she whispered, "it's so peaceful."

"Yeah," his attention shifted, taking in the water up ahead and the trees around them, "that's why I like the woods. No people, no noise," his eyes snapped back to hers, "just quiet."

Then he tipped his head to turn and call out to Sophia, who was moving down towards the rocks.

"Darlin', careful of the mud there by the reeds! It can get slippery on the incline!"

Seeing her daughter pause to give Daryl back a thumbs up and a nod, Carol's mouth twisted in a wry smile.

Less than a week together, and they were already going non-verbal. Another week . . . she let out a heavy sigh . . . and they'd probably have their own private sign language.

And that was more of what she'd just been thinking about, with the bond they were building.

Apparently though, Daryl had noticed her reaction to their _interaction_ , because he quirked his eyebrow.

"What is it?"

Her lips pressed together.

"Just watching you two together," she reached out to press her palm against his chest, "the way you look after her, and the way she listens to you. With everything happening, seeing that," she let out a slow breath, "it's kind of one less thing for me to worry about."

Feeling his brow now wrinkling, Daryl tipped his head in confusion.

"How you mean?"

"Just," she cleared her throat, "if our bubble breaks here and the flu shows up, or," her brow darkened, "the other stuff, then I know I'm not the only one taking care of her. And yes," she squeezed his hand, "you've been looking out for both of us since the moment we met. But I can see that it's different now. I know you really care about her," her eyes started to water, "and that means something to me."

Her voice unexpectedly cracked there at the end. But before she could do anything else but blink, Daryl was reaching out to pull her against his chest.

"She's a real good girl, Carol," he whispered in her ear, "and that was all you, I know that. And I do care about her, as much as I care about you," he rubbed his hand down her back, "that's why I am trying to do what I can to help you with her. And also, it is nice having a little one to look after," he pulled back to catch her eyes, "that smile of hers is a real gift."

"Yeah," Carol sniffled, "it is a real gift. There have been a lot of days that smile has been the only thing that kept me going. But lately . . ."

Then she stopped, and tipped her head back to look up at him.

"There are some worries on my mind," she continued softly, as she brought her hand up to wipe the corner of her eye, "and I've been wanting to talk to you about them, but it just hadn't come up yet. And I was going to do it until later tonight but," she bit her lip, "as long as we're here."

Daryl let out a faint sigh.

"Is it the flu you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah," Carol swallowed, "that, but all of it really. Because even though everything here feels so peaceful, in the back of my head I keep thinking about everything that's going wrong. Because I was watching the news tonight while I was making dinner, and it seems like so much is slipping." Her jaw clenched, "and it's not just the flu, or even those horrible attacks, it's the shootings, and those riots now too. It's all spreading like wildfire. And it's everywhere."

"Yeah," Daryl cut in with a tight nod, "I saw last night, Miami and Boston were on a state of emergency."

"Right," Carol came back again, "but almost a half dozen more cities went that route today. They had these horrible videos from St. Louis, Fort Worth, Philadelphia . . . Little Rock. Cars flipped, shops burning, and so many bodies in the street. And then Chicago, God," Carol's breathing started to get heavy as her eyes snapped up to his, "Daryl, they reported _four_ _hundred_ and fifty seven deaths there just since yesterday! They didn't have the list of names yet there were so many. And you know if those numbers keep going up, there are going to be too many dead for anyone to even care about getting the names anymore." She sucked in a ragged breath, "how is that becoming real life? And what's really going to stop it from coming here?"

Hearing how Carol's voice was starting to shake, and realizing this conversation they were having now, they maybe shoulda had a couple days ago . . . the what they'd do if the bubble did burst here in Blackburn, conversation . . . Daryl moved his arm up, and slipped it around her shoulders.

He brushed his fingertips along the curve of her neck.

"Come on sweetheart," he murmured as he started walking her across the leaves, "let's take a seat down there on the big rock."

It was closer to where Sophia was playing, but still far enough away from her that they could have a private conversation.

Which is definitely what they needed to have right now.

But as they came up on the rock, one he'd sat on many times before when he'd come down to fish or hunt, he saw that with the time of day, the moss on that grey stone was looking a might damp. And not wanting Carol's dress to get dirty, after he sat down, he just pulled her onto his lap and slipped his arm around her waist.

That was the first time he'd held her that way, cuddled up . . . and he really liked it. And could feel in how Carol put her hand on his knee, and leaned in against his side, that it was just fine with her too.

And with Sophia having just caught sight of some fireflies that had started popping out from the trees, he knew they had a minute to themselves. So he patted Carol's stomach.

"All right," he whispered in her ear, "first off, you ain't the only one that's starting to feel antsy about what's going on out there, coming in here. I'm getting a little scared too. Not like I was in the city but," he bit his lip, "I know we don't have a magic potion keeping Blackburn safe. It's the geography. And it's working so far, but the problem is, I know people are still coming and going from town to the outside world. A lot less than before I'm sure, but it's still happening. And as long as it is, I keep worrying that one of these days somebody's gonna come back sick with that flu. Or God help us that other thing that makes you go crazy. Which is why," he let out a slow breath as he rubbed her stomach again, "I've been carrying my gun with me."

At that news, Carol's eyes shot up to his in surprise.

"You have?"

"Yep," he nodded, "the Glock's in the truck, in a lockbox under the seat. I put it there the day I had to go down to the prison. Really, I was lucky they only asked if I had a gun _on_ me, and not if I had any weapons in the vehicle, because if they knew it was there, I know they woulda confiscated it, before I was detained, cited, and then banned from ever seein' Merle in a Georgia correctional facility, again. And that would've all been bad stuff, but," his jaw twitched, "I still knew I had to take it with me, 'cuz I'd sworn to myself after Atlanta, that I wasn't leavin' home again without it."

Carol patted the arm he had wrapped around her waist.

"Well," her jaw clenched, "given what you ran into on the way home, I'm glad you had it, though I'm also glad you didn't get caught with it." Then her lips pursed with worry.

"And you're sure you won't have a problem if you get stopped with it in the truck up here?"

"Naw," Daryl shook his head, "I got a conceal carry permit. I've still been keepin' it in the truck though, rather than on me, because it's been so quiet here and really, even if it's legal, you don't wanna be the dick walking around flashin' a handgun in the Piggly Wiggly. It makes people nervous, and people are nervous enough."

"Are they, really?" Carol asked with another slow breath and still watery eyes, "because I only talk to you and the ladies, but when I'm out in the yard I see people out walking and kids playing, and," her mouth twisted in a wry smile, "everybody just seems to be carrying on like normal."

"Well, yeah," Daryl nodded, "people are mostly carrying on like normal. You know we have been too, pretty much. But," he shrugged as his eyes fell to the little circle of wild mushrooms sproutin' up down by Carol's foot, "that's cuz it's _been_ normal here. We've been real lucky, and I think people appreciate that. I know I do. But I tell ya," he cleared his throat, "everywhere I've gone, I hear the little whispers about the stuff on the news. It's on everybody's mind."

He turned then to make sure he had Carol's full attention.

"I am a little afraid though," he continued softly, "that only seeing it on the TV, the people here don't understand really how bad it is. And by that," his brow wrinkled, "I mean, it is _so_ unbelievable, like something in a movie, I worry that they won't be prepared if things start to shift here."

For a moment he paused to collect his thoughts. Before he could speak again though, he heard Carol's soft murmur.

"I don't feel prepared either. The first couple days after we got here, I was just so relieved that we were in a safe place that I didn't let myself think about bigger things beyond that. But the last few days I've started to feel a little edgier." She bit her lip, "and then this morning, when I was working in the kitchen by myself, I was listening to the radio and it was a PBS news show. So you know serious stuff not, uh," her brow darkened, "sensationalized, like you get on the networks looking for ratings. So anyway, they were talking about the long haul flights that had been cancelled, and the cities around the world that had imposed martial law, and then they moved back to the States. And there was this lady they interviewed on the phone. She lives up in a little town up in New Hampshire. They had their first taste of the violence there yesterday. An old man attacked three people in the town square before the police shot him in the head. And the lady was crying, and she just kept saying over and over, we never thought it could happen here. And I started thinking about that, how looking around this sweet little town here, even seeing what we saw in the city, it's just so hard to picture people going crazy on these streets." Her voice started to get thick. "But they could. Because like you said, it's just geography protecting us. And all of a sudden my brain just flipped out. I had this total panic attack. It was so bad I had to go sit on the edge of the tub, with my head between my knees, until it had passed. And all the while I was just clenching my fists, and praying Sophia wouldn't start pounding on the door. Because I didn't want her to see me like that," her voice cracked, "because that's how she found me too many times before. Back when I was afraid all the time about was going to happen next."

She was starting to feel a little panicky again, just talking about what they were talking about. But then she felt Daryl fold their fingers together, right before he tipped his head over.

He brushed his cheek against hers.

"Oh sweetheart," he murmured, "I wish you'd called me when that happened. I was only a few blocks away."

"Yeah but," she let out a slow, heavy breath, "I knew you had a job today, and I didn't want to bother you at work."

Feeling a brief flicker of anger, misdirected though it may have been, Daryl's brow darkened at her words.

"You calling me's never a bother, Carol," he came back with as a soft a tone as he could manage . . . which was not as soft as he would have liked, "so you need to stop thinkin' thoughts like that. Because you being well, is a hell of a lot more important than anything I could be doing around town. And if you'd called me," he lifted his head so he could give her a look, "I coulda _told_ ya, that I already got plans made for us."

"What?" Her eyes darted over to his in surprise, "what kind of plans?"

"The kind," he bit his lip as that faint edge disappeared completely from his voice, "that keep you and Sophia safe. I've been thinking on this a lot since I got back here Sunday night, and I saw the dots startin' to spread. That's when I decided if there's even one attack here in town, first thing I do is go get you and Sophia and bring you back to my place. I got two spare rooms on the second floor, and a lot less neighbors than the biddies. And we both know from what we saw in the city, the less people, the better. So," he let out a slow breath, "if that works for you, that's Plan A." Then he gave another slow inhale, "now if you don't wanna leave the biddies alone with no protection, which I'll understand, I also got a Plan B. That's where I pack up my rifle, my bow, and my Glock, which are all the good weapons I got, and move in with all you ladies over there in the yellow house. I figure if it comes down to bein' torn up by a crazed cannibal, or toleratin' me at the breakfast table, Miss Roberta will probably be able to get past her issues with this branch on the Dixon tree. And if she can't," he shrugged, "then we're back to Plan A, where you and Sophia come to my house."

There was also a Plan C too, but he didn't wanna worry Carol with that one right now. Because Plan C was only for the absolute worst case scenario, where the attacks in Blackburn spun out beyond where it was just too dangerous to stay. Like the big city riots . . . but on a local scale. If that, Christ forbid, happened, he had a cabin. His granddaddy on Momma's side had built it some sixty years back, way, way, waaaay out in the forest. It took a half day just to hike out there, and he knew they'd only be able to carry enough supplies to cover them for a couple weeks, but it was so remote, it'd be a safe place to hole up if they had to run.

God willing though, this shit would all pass, before that day would ever come.

But back into the now, he could see from the little wrinkle there on Carol's nose, that she was processin' all the stuff that he'd just said. After a few more seconds of that though, she raised her arm up, and brushed the back of her fingers along his cheek.

Her skin was so soft.

"All those hours I wasted today feeling scared and panicky," she whispered, "and you already had everything worked out for how to take care of us."

"Well," he sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you those plans before, 'cuz I coulda saved you some of that stress. But you know I did promise you that first night we met, that I'd keep you two safe as long as we were together. And we're together now, right?"

"Yes," her eyes started to water, "we are definitely, one hundred percent, together."

The way she was feeling at that moment, she couldn't imagine ever NOT wanting to be with him. Because every time she thought he couldn't be any more amazing than she knew that he already was, he'd go and do or say something to top himself. Him planning two alternate evacuation options for them, just to make sure they were safe . . . but still comfortable with the choices he made . . . was just more of why she was falling so hard for him. Though Daryl Dixon might not seem perfect from an outsider's point of view, he had proved himself, over and over, to be the best man she could even imagine knowing.

And that's all that mattered.

That's when she felt him brushing his thumb along in a tiny circle, stroking the inside of her wrist.

"You feelin' a bit more grounded now, knowing we got plans?" He whispered. And she tipped her head over to again rest her cheek against his.

"Yep," she answered with a sniff, "I am. But uh," she swallowed, "as it relates to Plan B, I think there's something I should tell you about Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta. It might help smooth over relations if you did have to stay there."

Daryl shook his head.

"Sorry, I don't understand. What do you know that I don't?"

So Carol lifted her head then, and shifted back an inch on Daryl's thigh. That way she could see his face clearly. And seeing how scrunched up his brow was, she reached up to smooth it out.

"I have a story for you," she answered softly with a stroke of her finger down her cheek, "it was something I learned a couple days ago, and I was waiting until we had some private time, like this, to tell you about it. Because you see," she let her hand fall to his knee, as she out a slow breath, "I found out why Miss Roberta dislikes you so much."

That last sentence came out as barely a whisper, even though Sophia was the only one around. And she and Daryl were sitting so close, her daughter couldn't hear them talking anyway. And though Carol absolutely stood by the assessment that knowing the whole story of his mother's past with the biddies, would break Daryl's heart, if he heard just the first portion of it, that would probably do him a lot of good. Especially if there was even the _slightest_ of possibilities that he and Miss Roberta might need to be staying under the same roof for awhile.

And she could see now, in the way that his eyes were widening, that he was intrigued by what she'd said.

"What, she actually _told_ you?" He asked, the shock clear in his tone.

"No," Carol's gaze briefly flickered down as she tapped her fingertip on his knee, "no," she looked back up, "it was Miss Evelyn. A couple days back, remember you suggested I speak to her to clear the air over the words Miss Roberta and I exchanged that first night?"

Seeing Daryl's faint nod, Carol continued in the same quiet tone.

"So you were right about that, it definitely cleared things up. In fact she and I had a very long talk about how things were when she and Miss Roberta first moved to Blackburn, and that's when I found that uh," her lip quirked up, "believe it or not, but once upon a time, Miss Roberta was in love with your mother."

Daryl blinked.

"What?" He huffed in disbelief, "you serious?"

"I am," Carol nodded, "Miss Evelyn told me the whole story, which I won't get into all the details except to say it was a really painful time for all three of them. Because she and Miss Roberta were new in town, when they met your mother at church. And Miss Evelyn said that your mother was sweet and beautiful and just about their age, and Miss Roberta immediately developed a small crush on her, that quickly became an infatuation when they started spending private time together. And that's when things really became serious. The whole thing went on for months and Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta's relationship was almost completely destroyed by the time it was done."

"Wow," Daryl bit his lip, "that's," he blinked and shook his head, "wow. Of all the stuff I'd ever imagined was the base problem, that was most definitely never on the list. But uh," his eyebrow quirked up, "why does Miss Roberta hate me so much personally? Just 'cuz I'm kin? Because I know she ain't a fan of Merle's either."

"Uh," Carol's lips pursed, because now she was getting into the tricky area. One where there was the hard answer, and one where there was the easy answer. And she needed to give him the easy one.

But without lying to him in the process.

So she reached up and brushed her fingertips along his brow.

"All this," she murmured as her hand fell to run along his cheekbone and his jaw, "all your dominant features, even the color of your hair, you got all that from your mama. Miss Evelyn told me flat out," Carol gave him a knowing nod, "you look just like her."

Seeing Daryl's eyes fill with a new understanding, Carol felt a flood of relief. Because what she'd said was true.

And it was enough.

"Yeah," her lips pursed, "so all these years, whenever they saw you it was a reminder of those bad days, and how their whole relationship almost fell apart over your mother. That's why they've both always been so strange with you. But for Miss Roberta, it's more. Because she was in love, and," Carol sighed, "that ended in a broken heart, and you know a broken heart can hold onto a lot of bitterness and anger."

Yes, there was a piece of the story missing, but the root of Miss Roberta's anger with him was that bitterness. So this was the only part of the story that Daryl ever needed to know. Also, it would keep her from hiding a huge secret from him . . . and Carol had hated the idea of keeping _anything_ from him . . . while solving a lifelong mystery that she knew had always bugged him. Plus though, and this was the key thing right now, was that him knowing this complicated background story, might truly help him get along better with both of the biddies if the worst happened, and he did need to move into the yellow house to protect them.

It just then that she heard Daryl mutter to himself.

"So I never actually did anything, it was always just 'cuz I remind them of those days with Momma."

"Yeah, that's it." She agreed with a firm nod, because that statement . . . even with all the ugly layers beneath it . . . was the God's honest truth.

They were both quiet for a moment then, before Daryl looked back over at her. There was a hint of a smile now touching his lips.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said softly, "for gettin' that story outta Miss Evelyn. Because it's been bothering me for, well, forever, really."

"Yeah," Carol reached out to put her hand over his heart, "I could tell, even though you said it was nothing."

Daryl let out a slow breath.

"Just one more thing, did uh," his jaw twisted, "did Miss Evelyn say if Momma had the same feelings for Miss Roberta, as Miss Roberta did for her? Because if she did, that might explain some stuff."

Carol's brow wrinkled.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Just," he started chewing on his lip, "she was sad a lot, and I know Daddy was a bastard and he was cruel, but . . . maybe there was more to it even than that." His voice faded, "maybe she was sad about bigger things."

"Uh, um . . ."

For a second Carol stammered to come up with a response. Because she wasn't sure how honest she should be. If Daryl would REALLY want to hear that Miss Evelyn thought Laurel was bisexual. That might be more detail than he wanted to know about the intimacies of his mother's personal life.

It definitely would be for most people.

But seeing the way he was looking down at her, and remembering how offended he'd been in the city when she'd thought he might have been a little homophobic about that man hitting on him, she decided that he would be okay with the truth either way. And besides that . . . she took a breath . . . if she was going to be honest about this part of the story, then she would be _totally_ honest.

And let him deal with it however he wanted to.

So she let out a soft sigh.

"Actually," she reached up to touch his cheek again, watching his eye widen as she did so, "Miss Evelyn is of the opinion that your mama did feel the same. She said though that given how things were back then, she might not have really understood being," Carol tipped her head, " _attracted_ to both men and women, but that it was clear that what she felt for Miss Roberta was real. But according to what Miss Roberta told Miss Evelyn later, nothing more physical ever happened between them than some hand holding."

For a brief second, Carol saw Daryl's eyes fill with tears . . . but he quickly blinked them away.

"That probably really was part of it then," he whispered, his voice suddenly husky with emotion, "she was living a whole life she didn't wanna be living."

After a moment of watching him stare down at the ground, Carol squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry hon, should I not have told you that part? Because it seems like I just made you sad, instead of making you feel better."

And she was going to feel just awful if this effort to give him some peace, actually ended up backfiring. But then she saw his lip quirk up, right before he shook his head.

"Naw sweetheart, I'm real glad you told me. Truly. I am sad for Momma that she had to live such an unhappy life, but," he blinked again, "if she had a few good weeks or months or whatever out of her time with Miss Roberta, that's more happiness than I thought she got outta this life. So that makes me feel better," he let out a sigh, "even if it did all end badly."

Feeling her eyes start to burn at what a sweet soul he head, Carol leaned over and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"You're a good son," she whispered with a brush of her fingers over his heart, "and I'm sure your mama is up in heaven right now so proud of how you turned out."

Hearing him let out a grunt at that, right before she felt him taking in a ragged breath, Carol knew enough to stop talking then. Because as good as he was about taking (and giving) affection, praise, especially _genuine_ praise of his character . . . that stirred something up in him. She had a few ideas on why that might be . . . she was definitely blaming that bastard father of his for a large part of it . . . but whatever the root cause was, it made her sad when she saw him fold in on himself. So she gave him a minute to process without anymore commentary from her.

It was all she could think to do.

In that minute though, she made sure to keep herself close. Still with her head in the curve of his neck, while she kept rubbing light little circles on his chest, right over his heart. Finally she felt the tension in his body begin to relax, and she slowly sat up again.

When his gaze shifted over to hers, she saw him giving her a slow nod.

"If Miss Roberta was good to Momma," he whispered, "then I can be good to her. Whether she likes it or not," he swallowed, "whether she likes _me_ or not, that don't matter. 'Cuz you're right," his eyes started to get shiny then, "if Momma was here she'd want me to be kind to her. That's how she always was. She tried to see good in people. She'd tell me, nobody's all bad Daryl, so just try and find the decent parts, and tolerate the rest. It's hard sometimes but," his voice hardened as he blinked away the remaining tears, "that is the rule I try and follow, best I can."

"It's a good rule," Carol whispered back, "mostly I've taught Sophia the Golden One, do unto others but," she nodded, "we should teach her the other rule too."

His eyes darted over to hers.

"We?" He asked in surprise. And she gave him a little smile.

"Yeah, we. As long as Sophia's around you, you're an influence. And you're a teacher. And I want my child to become the best person she can be, but given how I've basically been raising her on my own," she gave a wry huff, "and I don't possess the sum total of all knowledge in the universe, there is so much she hasn't learned yet. So if you really want to help me with her," she nodded, "help me fill in those gaps. It can be showing her how to read people, because I know you can do that better than I can, or just learning to spin a quarter through her fingers, it's all stuff she doesn't know."

For a moment Daryl was quiet, then he bit his lip.

"I could teach her about the woods. How to read animal tracks, and all the different kinds of plants and trees. And how to fish without a pole. That's all stuff she don't know, right?"

Carol's eyes crinkled.

"Right, and she'd love that. I know she would. God," she tipped her chin down towards the water, "just look at her running around after those fireflies."

"Hmm," Daryl murmured back with a faint huff, "she is having fun."

For a moment they were quiet once again, but then Carol heard Daryl add with a faint huff, "you know I can do that quarter thing too."

She let out a soft chuckle.

"Of course you can. So," she patted his chest, "you just make sure you teach me that one when you teach her, because it looks fun."

"Will do sweetheart," he murmured with kiss to her cheek, "will do."

"Okay then," she let out a happy sigh as she shifted around in his arms and tucked her head back into the crook of his neck, "now with our last bit of sunlight, I just want to sit here in your lap, and watch my baby chase fireflies. Is that all right with you?"

"Yep," he answered back with a brush of his thumb along her shoulder blade, "we can do that."

So they did. They sat there out on that rock, as the light continued to fade from the sky, and they watched Sophia try to catch the little lightning bugs. And even though it was getting dark there under the trees, Carol wasn't nervous about that. For one, it was because they were there with Daryl, and she knew he wouldn't let them stay out anywhere that they shouldn't be. So she had no fear of wild bears or cougars or anything like that. And when it came to the _human_ factor, all of their worries there . . . such as they lingered even in this little town . . . were focused on what would happen if somebody went crazy. But there were no other some bodies out there.

They were all alone.

After a little while though, Daryl finally patted her stomach.

"Unless I build a fire, we're gonna have to leave soon. Because it's gonna be pitch in about ten minutes. And after that, there'll probably be more wildlife wanderin' about, than you're going to be comfortable with."

At that, her gaze shot up to his . . . she could still just barely see his eyes.

"Like bears?" She asked worriedly.

"Mmm," his nose wrinkled, "more like foxes. Deer. Raccoons. Just lots of little to medium size things scurrying through the leaves, but if you ain't used to it, especially if we're in the dark, it might make you a bit antsy."

"Yeah," Carol let out a slow breath as she straightened up, "I'm not up for scurrying in the dark. Not tonight." Then she quickly leaned forward, and called down towards the water.

"Sophia! Come on honey, time to go!"

Though her daughter yelled back a distracted, "K, Mama!" she was a little too busy hopping around, trying to snatch a firefly out of the sky, to actually look in her direction. And hearing Daryl huff in her ear, Carol knew that he was getting some amusement out of that. And it was a little funny how excited she was. So Carol gave her another full thirty seconds to do as instructed . . . come back up from the water . . . before she let out a heavy sigh.

Now she was going to have to be the bad guy.

But just before she was about to call her daughter again, this time with a little more edge to her tone, she felt Daryl pat her stomach. And then.

"Darlin', fireflies are all over town, and we'll have all summer to catch you a jar full! Now you come on up here now, like your mama said! We gotta go before it gets too dark!"

Feeling a spot of warmth in her chest, Carol brought her hand up then to pat his cheek.

"Thank you," she murmured, "I hate having to be the spoil sport when she's having fun."

"Yeah well," he shifted his weight to bring them both to their feet, "making her listen ain't being a spoil sport," his lip quirked up as he looked down at her, "you're just being a good mama."

It was just then that Sophia came running up to them, half out of breath.

"Can we really get a jar, Daryl?" She panted out.

And he reached out to pat her head.

"Yes, little girl, I'll get you a jar and put some holes in the cover. _But_ ," his eyebrow inched up, "if you wanna do fun stuff like catch lightning bugs, you gotta listen to your mama when she tells you playtime's over, all right? You don't want her to have to repeat herself."

Those big eyes widened then before she bit down on her lip. A second later she tipped her head back to look up at Carol.

"I'm sorry Mama," she murmured with enough contriteness in that little voice, that Daryl knew she was bein' sincere. It was then that Carol's expression softened.

"It's all right baby," she brushed her hand down her cheek, "just remember to listen for next time." Then her lip quirked up, "and next time we'll bring the jar like Daryl said. I'm sure he can help you catch a few fireflies that we can keep in our room."

Of course then Sophia's shot back to his, and her face lit up again. He had to bite down a snort.

Apparently it was quite the rollercoaster being ten.

"Can we, Daryl?!" She asked with a little hop on her toes, "can we catch some for my room?!"

His lip quirked up.

"I think I can make that happen, yes. But," he put his hand on her head, while reaching out to catch Carol's fingers, "that's for next time. For _now_ ," he gave a little pull on each of them to start walking his ladies along through the crunching leaves, "we need to get a move on, while I can still see the path back to the truck."

Granted, they only had to go about twenty paces, but there were a few chuck and/or snake holes in this area where a person could turn an ankle if they weren't aware of where they were stepping. And it would be nice if he didn't maim either his ladyfriend, nor her daughter, on their first trip out to the lake.

It would probably set a bad tone for future activities.

Fortunately though, now that he had them moving back to the truck, they both seemed to have finally noticed it really was almost full dark. His eyes were adjusting okay, taking in the moonlight that was bouncin' off the lake and into the trees. But that was because he was used to moving through the woods at night.

Plus he knew this area inside and out.

The ladies on the other hand . . . his ears pricked up when he heard a critter running through the trees off to their left . . . were probably starting to feel like they were walkin' blind.

Case in point, all it had taken to freak Sophia out, was hearing those leaves crunching beneath that animal's feet, for her to press herself in tight back against his chest.

And he could feel a decent amount of tension in that little body.

So he moved his arm up . . . the free one that Carol didn't now have a death grip on . . . and slipped it across Sophia's front, to press his palm down on her breastbone. A year from now, when puberty started moving in, that would clearly be very _IN_ appropriate touchin'. But it was still okay for the time being, 'cuz her top half was still built like a little boy. Plus of course he was keepin' his hand above the danger area anyway.

Just to be safe.

But at least with his hand where it was, he was able to keep a good grip on her that way. Because he had just started hearin' more noises in the woods. And those noises were beginning to bother him some. It wasn't anything big, just . . . he tipped his head . . . there were a lot of animals moving about. And they were all moving fast.

Like they were running away from something.

Suddenly though he heard another sound, one that set the flesh on the base of his neck, straight up.

"Sweetheart," he murmured with a hard yank on Carol's hand even while he was scooping Sophia up onto his hip, "we need to quicken up here and get to the truck."

"What is it?!" She panted out as she started to run beside him, "what did you hear?!"

He shot her a wild look just before he hissed back.

"A growl!"

* * *

 _A/N 2: So you can see this will likely be our last chapter that we could consider mostly 'light' in tone :) But just like letting them have their one nice ice cream outing, I decided to let them go to the lake too, just so they could watch the sunset. Because all of Daryl's other plans for them there to go fishing and all that, you can see that's not going to be possible now :( But I figured they could get one sunset, and Carol could finally have her little chat about his mom and Miss Roberta. That is a piece I wrote almost immediately after I had Miss Evelyn tell Carol the story, but then I couldn't decide where/when I wanted Carol and Daryl to have THEIR conversation. So it's been sitting in the draft scenes waiting for a place to jump in. Finally found it. And it did have to go here, for reasons that will become clear shortly. But I just really liked the idea of Daryl getting to hear that part of the story, and it giving him a little peace to know his mother had a special person who made her happy for a little while._

 _In case you were wondering, I named Vernon's family "the Walkers" because it amused me. And of course it's a bit of foreshadowing. It would be WAY better foreshadowing if you guys didn't know what a walker WAS, but, here we are :) Basically though, sometimes I do turn a phrase, or name people or places certain things for a reason beyond, 'eh, it's as good a name as any other.' Like Daryl's neighbors across the street, Mrs. Loretta and Mr. Charles. I don't know if any of you noticed but those are the Masons. Across from the Dixons. So that street between them would be, "The Mason Dixon Line." That only means something if you're familiar with American Civil War history, but I'm a nerd, so I did that for my own, lame, amusement :) If you are the ONE person in the universe who didn't roll your eyes there at what is essentially the historical equivalent of a bad dad joke, I'm glad you enjoyed it! :)_

 _Lastly, Rural Route 4, that's our highway to hell. This is where I wish I could be cool like Stephen King and have a fun little map insert for you guys like he does in his fictional towns. But we're working on this no budget thing here, so we'll just 'walk through' the geographical undercurrent :)_

 _So the Applebaum Farm with our one confirmed Walker Theresa is a little ways down the road from the Tanner place. And when Daryl and Sophia drove by the Tanners the previous afternoon, (with Theresa stumbling on after them), the Tanner mom and baby daughter were out in the front yard. Meanwhile, if a person were to keep driving/walking past the Tanner and Applebaum farms, going the OTHER way, eventually they would come out at the lake where our trio went to watch the sunset. Dun, dun, dah! ;) So yes, NEXT time, the Blackburn bubble will most definitely, burst. Still hoping to keep you on guessing on how that cascade is going to go though. Once more, I'm hoping it is not how you're expecting, because that would be boring for you :)_

 _And as always, thank you everyone for your amazing support and feedback here! You folks, across the board, (on and Nine Lives both) leave the best, most detailed, thoughtful, reviews. It's awesome :) Seriously, it's very cool for the author when you see the readers are THAT involved in the storyline that you're pulling out lines and getting emotional at different scenes, and just dissecting things like I do when I'm writing it out! It helps me to me see that so many of you are as vested here as I am here, and it just reinforces my goal of doing a good job to keep everyone entertained :)_


	16. The Fall

**Author's Note** : Hey all, I stayed up to get this done, JUST, so I could be done!

And we have another new (key) character pop up in this one. Her name is Jolene, and you will learn who she is, but for physical description, I have based her on Amy Jo Johnson. Some of you may know her as "Jules" on Flashpoint. Once upon a time, I believe she was also the "Pink Power Ranger," but really more picture her as Jules, than a Power Ranger :) There's a picture of her up with the chapter post. More at the end.

Now, direct continuation. And giddy up, kids! We're going for a ride!

* * *

 _Wednesday Night_

 _Day 7_

 **The Fall**

Carol's stomach flipped.

"A _growl_?!" she gasped, hearing a touch of hysteria hitting her voice as they raced up the path, "like the growling in the city?!"

"Talk after, sweetheart," Daryl hissed back with a harder pull on her wrist, "now we just run."

"Right, right," she swallowed, and nearly stumbled, just barely missing tripping over a rock, "talk after."

Talk after, run now. That was almost literally one of the first things Daryl had ever said to her. And she couldn't believe they were living that night over again. But if he'd just heard what he'd thought he'd heard . . . her eyes started to burn . . . God help them.

And they definitely did need God's help getting back to the truck.

It wasn't that they had to go far, but with the darkness now almost fully closed in, and the ground covered over in those dead leaves and pine needles, not to mention rocks and branches and all that, she almost stumbled more times than she wanted to count. But Daryl kept her upright and moving forward. And then suddenly she saw the outline of the truck just ahead. And that's when he gave her arm a hard yank, which ricocheted her in the direction of the driver's side door.

She had her hand out for the door handle, before she was even close enough to grab it.

But once she did have it, she was squeezing and yanking and hauling herself through that open space before that hunk of glass and metal had even swung completely back. Then she was twisting around, and reaching out, scrambling to grab Sophia . . . who was clearly terrified and already in tears . . . as Daryl practically hurled her through the gaping doorway.

She'd only managed to get the two of them halfway across the bench seat, before Daryl had jumped up next to them.

He was slamming the door shut as he yelled over.

"GET YOUR WINDOW!"

Sophia jumped then as she brought her hands to her mouth, letting out a soft whimper. But Carol had no time to do anything more than mutter a frantic, "it's okay baby." Because she was already letting go of her daughter and twisting around, frantically trying to roll up her window before what they feared was in the woods . . . came crashing out.

By then Daryl already had the engine revving, even while he was trying to get his window up at the same time.

She got hers to the top just as Daryl jerked the truck into reverse.

And Sophia would've gone flying into the dashboard then, if not for the fact that Daryl threw his arm up to hold her in place. So then Carol . . . who had yet to take a God damn breath(!) . . . was scrambling to get her daughter belted in. And though she desperately wanted to again ask Daryl about the growling, she didn't dare to distract him until he'd at least gotten them turned around.

Which was not something that he was even attempting yet.

First he was just tearing out in reverse, over the leaves and rocks . . . and then they bounced up onto the dirt road. And though she would've loved to have had her own seatbelt on right about then . . . at that point they were going at least thirty, still backwards, over an uneven, unpaved, road, with trees closing in on each side of them . . . there still was no time. Because before she could do more than grab the seatbelt clip, Daryl hollered over for her to get the gun out from under the seat.

So then she was sliding forward, with one hand on the glove box to brace herself, before she started feeling around for the lockbox he'd mentioned earlier.

It only took a second to find.

She just had to yank a towel out of the way, before she felt the smooth plastic handle running across her palm. Her fingers closed around it, and she yanked. Hard.

It popped out and hit her leg.

And it was just then that Daryl yelled, "hold on!" . . . and so she did. With her body half on the floor, and one hand on the glove box and the other on the lock box, she saw him shifting gears . . . but he didn't slow down first. It took her a second, but then she realized that basically he was pulling one of those fancy flip turn things that the police did, but in a pickup truck. And she didn't even know how that was possible, but he did it flawlessly. Because first they were facing in one direction . . . and then they were facing in the other.

And that's when he floored it.

Then they were half spinning out each time they took one of the curves twisting around the lake, but not for a second did she think they'd flip. Not with someone driving who could do a fancy turn like that. So she just did her best to keep calm and push back those panicky tears that kept stinging her eyes. Though she knew the tears were building up from the stress and anxiety, she refused to give in and cry, when Daryl needed her to stay focused and clear headed. In the past those might not have been her best strengths in an emergency, but she was trying to be better than the old Carol. Besides . . . she yanked her belt around herself . . . the old Carol didn't have Daryl.

And for him she would be strong.

So once she got her belt clicked, she started fumbling to open the lockbox. But that's when she realized it was (as indicated by the name) locked.

"I need the code," she called over to Daryl.

"Uh," he waved his hand, "47962." Then he shot her a quick look, "you know guns?"

That wasn't something that had come up yet in their conversations. And so Carol gave him a harried shake of her head as she punched in the numbers.

"No," she sniffled and blinked, "no, Ed had a gun, but I've never touched one before."

"All right," he let out a slow breath, "then I won't make you do that now. Just unlock the case and keep it close. But I'm hoping we've gone far enough that we're okay now anyway," he shot a look into the rearview mirror, "I just want it handy in case we're not."

At that point they were just bouncing off the dirt part of the road and back onto the paved. And given that they'd made that reverse drive barely an hour ago, Carol knew they were still FAR out from town, but it was a genuine relief to have solid traction under the tires again.

It must have felt good to Daryl too, because that's when he finally reached over to grab his own belt. The second it clicked into place though . . . he punched the gas, shooting them well past the posted speed limit of thirty-five. They were going faster and faster, but once they'd reached fifty-five, he finally eased up a bit.

They held steady from there.

After that, with his eyes still locked on the road . . . there were no streetlights where they were . . . he fumbled over to take Sophia's hand.

"I know you're scared darlin'," he murmured with a light squeeze of her fingers, "and I made it worse when I yelled, and I'm sorry about that, but I was kinda nervous too. That's why I raised my voice. But you doin' okay now?"

"Is it safe?" she sniffled back. And his teeth ground together.

"Yeah, baby girl," he started rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, something he'd done before to calm her mama, "I think we're safe now. Lake's a couple miles behind us, and we're gonna drive a long, long way, before we get back to town, so we won't be stoppin' again anytime soon."

"Good," she sniffed. And then she turned and buried her face against Carol's chest . . . though she didn't let go of the death grip she had on his fingers either.

Once the cab was quiet but for the sounds of Sophia's soft sniffling, Carol finally asked the question that she'd been wanting to ask since Daryl had first yanked on her hand.

"Do you think it really was one of them?" she whispered, again blinking back those stress tears that kept forming against her will.

And in the glow of the dash lights, she saw his jaw twist.

"Don't know," he shook his head, "I really don't. But that growling sound, it put me right back in the city."

That's when he shot her a quick, slightly wild, look.

"You heard it, right? That wasn't just me."

"No," and those tears in her eyes finally started to pool, "no, I'm sorry hon, but I didn't hear it. I heard the sounds of the animals running though, so even I had figured out that there was something spooking them. Could it have just been a bigger animal?" She asked then, a faint note of hope filling her voice. "A wolf, or a bear, or something? The lake is named after bears for a reason, right?"

At that, she saw Daryl give another shake of his head . . . though this one was more violent.

"I don't _know_ sweetheart," Daryl knew there was a definite edge in his tone now that he hoped Carol didn't hear as directed at her, "I really don't have any true read on what it was. It was just too faint. I barely picked it up over the sounds of the animals movin', and all I could tell for sure was that it was not a safe sound. Under the circumstances of course, I would absolutely LOVE, for it to have been a wolf, or a mountain lion, or something, but," his lips pressed together, "I just can't say for sure."

It was driving him nuts though, the not knowing. Yeah, it _coulda_ been an animal, but he just couldn't discount it being a person either.

Not in the times they were living in now.

The idea though, of somebody in town gettin' infected and then ending up WAY out there at the lake, wandering in the woods . . . ranging a good five to ten miles from where the bulk of their small population lived . . . just seemed so damn BIZARRE! Yeah, crazy people did crazy things, but he woulda thought that if somebody in Blackburn was gonna get that type of crazy sick, it'd be more likely somebody closer to town. Because you gotta SEE people to catch something from 'em! And if you got a disease that makes you wanna eat people, then why are you gonna head off in the ONE part of their town where the odds of findin' a snack are about one in a hundred?! The whole thing was just fuckin' weird.

And weirder still the more he tried to work it out in his head.

Then from across the seat, in the dark, he heard Carol murmur, "should we call the police?" And he bit his lip.

"Well," he answered with a sigh, "I'd like to, but I don't wanna be the asshole that cries cannibal. That's not gonna do anybody any good. But fortunately Jolene works nights. So when we get back to the yellow house, I'll call just her direct, and tell her what happened. She can take the ball from there."

"Jolene?" Carol repeated back the name with a confused shake of her head, "who's she?"

And she saw Daryl squint as he shot her a peculiar look, right before his eyes bounced back to the road . . . which was probably for the best, given she'd just seen a set of deer eyes go flashing past the side window.

"Oh," his brow furrowed as he shook his head, "sorry, I was thinking she'd come up by now. Uh, Jolene Pembrey, that's her married name, she and I were good friends when we were kids. Then I became a delinquent and she went off to college. But for the last fifteen or so years, she's been a deputy with the Blackburn Sheriff's Office, and, uh," he let out a slow breath, "well, she's the only cop I know who'll take my word for anything."

Jolene was also the only cop Daryl had any patience for either, so those first fifteen years of running around fishin' holes and playin' baseball, had done something good for 'em both.

It built a bridge they never woulda had otherwise.

Carol nodded.

"Okay," she whispered as her gaze shifted away from Daryl's profile, and back out the windshield, "I guess that does sound like the best way to report it."

It was stupid, but when he said that woman's name the way he had, she'd felt a brief pinch of discomfort. It wasn't jealousy, it was something else. Fear maybe. But whatever it was, it was foolish.

And _particularly_ inappropriate under the circumstances.

Fortunately though, the sensation faded off once he said she was married. Yes _, again_ , stupid and inappropriate, but as long as her brain had worked _that_ out all on its own, that was what mattered. And so with them still speeding down that dark, deserted, road with countless insects flying up through the headlights and smashing into the glass, Carol tried to get her mind back to a normal . . . non freaked out . . . headspace. It would've helped to get there faster, if only she'd been able to hold Daryl's hand. Because she'd learned on basically day one of their time together, that just simple contact with him calmed her nerves.

But unfortunately neither of them had a free hand at the moment.

Because she had her left arm wrapped around Sophia's shoulders, and he had his right hand, curled around Sophia's fingers.

Which meant that Carol just needed to suck it for now.

Fortunately though, with the speed Daryl was driving at, they'd be back at the yellow house in probably half the time it had taken to get out to the lake. So she made herself settle back on the seat, and take a deep breath as she wondered yet again just what kind of animal had been out there in the woods. Her eyes started to water.

 _God help them all if it was the kind that walked on two legs._

/*/*/*/*/

They pulled up in front of the yellow house just before nine. Carol couldn't help but take note of the time, because it had been well under a twenty minute drive, for what she knew was a solid ten mile trip. But Daryl had the pedal down between forty and fifty, all the way up until they'd reached the first stop sign in the town proper.

They took that one more as a "yield" than anything else.

But from then on he kept them at about thirty. And now that they'd finally reached the house, and they'd stopped completely for the first time since they'd spun away from the lake, she could see him letting out a heavy breath as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Then he turned and looked across the front seat.

He put his hand out.

"The case please, sweetheart."

"Oh," she let out her own breath as she scrambled to pick it up off the floor, "right."

About halfway home, at a point where they lake was literally miles behind them, she'd finally moved the case off of her knee . . . where it kept sliding around . . . and down to the floor mat beneath her feet. It was still handy if she'd needed to grab it up, but that way she didn't have to worry about it flying through the window if Daryl had to stop short.

So in the now, she hoisted it up with both hands . . . the thing had to weigh a good twenty plus pounds . . . and passed it over Sophia's lap.

Daryl took it with a faint grunt, that she'd learned by then was a thank you.

And while he got busy taking his gun out, and checking the safety, she got busy getting her and Sophia unbuckled from their seatbelts. And as Daryl was twisting around to tuck the case back under the seat, she started to reach for the door.

"You wait for me, sweetheart," he murmured, in that quiet way he had of making her breath catch. Because unlike the 'orders' she'd been listening to from Ed all these years, when Daryl told her to do something, she knew he wasn't saying it because he was a controlling psychopath.

It was just that he wanted her to stay safe.

So unlike with Ed, she felt no emotional recoil from his words. She just let her fingers fall away from the door handle . . . and back to her lap.

"Okay," she whispered, "I'll wait."

And then he reached over the back of the seat, to brush his fingers along the curve of her jaw.

"Thank you."

Then he let his hand slip down to the crown of Sophia's blonde head . . . she was still slumped against Carol's side.

"How you doing there, darlin'?"

There was definite worry in his tone, but then Carol felt Sophia's body weight shift, so she could turn and look over at Daryl.

"Can I get out with you?"

His lips twisted at that, into sort of a sad smile, right before he nodded.

"Yeah," he brushed her hair back from her forehead, "after I do a check, you can get out with me."

And Carol felt her eyes begin to sting, because just like all she'd wanted on the ride back was to be able to touch him . . . because that would make things better . . . that was all her daughter wanted too.

Daryl had become as much a grounding wire for Sophia, as he was for her.

That was with the three of them together for barely one week . . . Carol let out a slow breath . . . at this rate, she didn't know how they'd ever be able to leave him. And yes, there was some dependency building up there that maybe (if they had lived different lives) would have made her uncomfortable.

But it didn't.

Because it wasn't really dependency. At least not in a bad way. What they were actually building were relationships. And people in relationships _did_ have an emotional need for one another. So if someone wanted to call that a 'dependency,' well, then they were welcome to do so. But if her daughter was starting to see Daryl . . . a man who wasn't going any _where_ , at any _time_ in the foreseeable future . . . as the caring and protective paternal figure that she'd never had before, how could that be a _bad_ thing?!

God, it might be the only GOOD thing to come out of all this!

And so when Daryl (with his gun still in his hand, and the case back under the seat) moved to get out of his side of the truck, Carol tipped her head down to kiss Sophia's temple.

"Everything's going to be okay, baby." She murmured.

The words were ones she'd probably whispered to her daughter a thousand times. Usually while they were huddled up in the corner of the downstairs bathroom, or the closet in Sophia's bedroom, listening to a drunken Ed ransacking through the house. Honestly, that many years in, Carol had said those words so many times, that she didn't even think about it anymore.

It was just what she did.

This time though, it was clear that Sophia, at least, _was_ thinking about those words. Because rather than just cuddling in closer, instead she tipped her head back. And when she did, with the faint glow from the street lights out the window, Carol could see her daughter's eyes.

And how very old they looked.

"You don't have to say that anymore to make me feel better, Mama," she whispered, "'cuz I know Daryl will take care of us."

And hearing those grown up words from her little daughter, caused Carol's eyes to flood. And those tears were hot.

And they were bitter.

"Yeah baby," she sniffled back while brushing her hand along that downy cheek, "he will take care of us. And I know," she swallowed, "that maybe I've said those words too many times before when I really didn't know what was going to happen," her lips twisted, "and I'm sorry for that. But," she gave a sniff and a nod, "right now, I think, unless Daryl says he sees any problems outside, that we should be very safe. We just needed to get away from the lake."

Before her daughter could do more than bite her lip, Daryl opened his door again . . . and both Carol and Sophia jumped.

"Sorry," he whispered, while tucking the Glock into the back waistband of his belt, "didn't mean to scare ya, but everything's still okay here. I can even hear a few folks out in their yards laughing. So it's clear there ain't nothin' been going on around here, for us to worry about. So," he put his arms out, "come on darlin'."

The 'darlin' had barely left his mouth, before Sophia was shimmying across the seat. And as he pulled her to his chest, and straightened up, she threw her arms around his neck, and locked her legs around his waist.

For a second he stood frozen, and it was clear to Carol that he'd intended to just give Sophia a hug, and then put her on the ground. But Sophia clearly did not want to be put down.

She was clinging to him like a monkey.

And Carol's eyes were watering, when she saw Daryl wince as he rubbed his hand down her daughter's back.

"I'm sorry you got so scared, darlin'," he murmured, "but I promise that I checked real good," his hand stilled, "and there's nobody out here right now but us."

Those words were clearly less of an empty comfort than Carol's had been . . . he'd at least taken some proactive steps to make sure they were safe . . . but still, Sophia didn't seem any more inclined to get down then, than she had been before. If anything it looked like she just tightened her hold around his neck. Like she was making her point.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Which was when Daryl's eyes met Carol's across the front seat. She just gave him a sad smile, and a shrug. And he shook his head, right before he took a step back . . . and slammed the door shut.

Then she watched him through the glass while he walked around the front of the truck with her daughter still holding onto him in a way that she never would have dared even try to do with her daddy. Not even when she was two years old, and afraid of the monsters in her closet. But of course her daddy _was_ one of the monsters in the closet.

And maybe she knew that even then.

Either way, Carol was just grateful that God had brought Daryl into their lives. And it was just a moment before he appeared at the side of the truck and was opening up the passenger side door. And even though he had one arm around her daughter's back, holding Sophia in place, he put his other hand out to help her down.

So Carol took his fingers, and let her legs shift around, her skirt rustling, as her sneakers slipped down to the asphalt.

Once she was standing there next to him, Daryl tipped his head down to kiss her forehead, before he moved his arm up, to slip it around her shoulders.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, while moving them a step back, "let's get inside."

Then he kicked the door shut with his foot.

The sound echoed through the neighborhood. And it was a little unnerving being outside again, but Carol couldn't deny that Daryl was right . . . everything did seem completely normal. There was even a couple sitting on their porch right next door, laughing and talking and drinking what looked like glasses of wine. And clearly they wouldn't be doing _that_ , if there had been any kind of upset in the neighborhood since they'd been gone.

So while they were walking through the yard and up to the house, Carol did her best to try and push down her remaining fears and anxiety about what had happened out at the lake. There was no way to push it all away of course . . . not that quickly anyway . . . but she did have years of practice in pretending that everything in her life was just fine, even when the reality was a living hell. And this wasn't a 'living hell' she was experiencing right now . . . it was just a scary incident. But still the coping mechanisms worked the same.

It was kind of like riding a bike.

And yes what had happened that night had been frightening, but hardly much worse than an average Saturday night with Ed. The only difference was that tonight she'd been terrified at the possibility of having her throat ripped out by a stranger, and in the past, she'd been terrified she was going to be beaten to death by a 'loved one.' And as they say . . . she let out a faint sigh . . . six of one. Half dozen of another.

Either way it was all the same to her.

It was just then that they got up to the porch. And through the gaps in the pale blue curtains, Carol could see that the lights were on all along through the front hall, going through to what looked back into the living room. And that meant that one, or both, of the ladies were still downstairs. So then Carol had a new thought on her mind.

Miss Evelyn.

And how that headache of hers was doing.

Still though for a second she hesitated, wondering if she should knock on the door before she went inside. Because this was the first time she'd actually left the house to go farther than the yard. And somehow, even with all the real worries on her mind, it seemed a little funny to walk right back in now like she owned the place.

But then she noticed Daryl was starting to give her a strange look, and she gave him an awkward smile in return.

"Sorry," she let loose a small shake of her head while reaching out to put her hand on the black metal, "it's just the first time I've left and come back," she started turning the knob, "and I wasn't sure if I should knock or not."

"Mmm," Daryl murmured as she pushed the door open, "I guess I can see the question comin' to ya, but," he put his arm out for her to step in front of him, "I'm sure they don't expect you to knock. Temporary or not, this is your home now. And you don't gotta knock when you go home."

"Right," she let out a slow breath as she stepped over the threshold, and into the front hall, "home."

She hadn't taken more than three steps through the door of that new home . . . with Daryl and Sophia coming up just behind her . . . that Carol saw Miss Roberta coming out of the living room to meet them.

It looked like she might have had her pajamas on, but it was hard to tell exactly what she was wearing, except that she had a big red blanket wrapped around her. It was one with a Navajo type print on it.

And it covered most of her body.

"Miss Roberta," Carol gave the older woman a small, tense, smile as she walked forward another few steps to let Daryl close the door, "how's Miss Evelyn feeling?"

"Uh," the older woman answered slowly even while she gave Daryl and Sophia a quick, curious, glance . . . unlike her usual hard, disdainful one that he received alone, "the headache was getting worse, and she started feeling kind of run down too," her eyes snapped back to Carol's, "so she went up to bed shortly after you left. Did uh," her brow darkened then as she quickly changed the subject, "did something happen while you were out? You guys seemed rattled."

Carol bit her lip.

"We are a little rattled," she let out a slow breath, "we had a bit of a scare out at the lake."

"A scare?" the other woman repeated back in surprise, "what happened?" Then a thought seemed to come to her, and her eyes snapped up to Daryl's.

"Were those Bronson boys out there shooting muskrats again with that .45?"

There was none of the usual hostility in the question, that Carol generally heard in Miss Roberta's tone when she was speaking to (or about) Daryl. So Carol had to imagine that the other woman was just concerned enough about their general welfare, to get past her general issues with him. And fortunately Carol knew that Daryl himself was now beyond having _any_ issues with Miss Roberta's behavior either way, so he just quickly shook his head.

"No ma'am," he answered softly, "something turned up in the woods right at dusk, when were leaving the picnic area. It scared the animals pretty bad. Bad enough they were all runnin' hard," his jaw tensed as he gave Sophia's back another gentle pat, "so we did too."

Seeing Miss Roberta's eyes widen as they bounced back and forth between her and Daryl, Carol could see that there was a definite awareness there that the potential danger he was alluding to, might have been severe.

And then she hissed back.

"Do you think someone here could have gotten that infection?! The one that makes people go crazy and attack everyone?!"

Daryl's jaw twitched.

"Not sure. I heard a noise that, well," his lips pressed together, "it _reminded_ me of what I heard in the city when we were near those people, but," he shook his head, "I can't say for sure if what spooked the animals was anything more than a predator out for an early dinner. I'm gonna call Jolene though, tell her what happened, and let them check it out to be safe."

After hearing that, Miss Roberta's anxiety seemed to fade a bit. And then she gave Daryl a quick, tight nod of approval.

"Good, that's uh," she swallowed, "that's smart."

For a brief second, Daryl's eyes widened in shock . . . but then he quickly dropped his attention down to the floor. Because he was about on the verge of bein' knocked out with a feather. A genuine compliment from Miss Roberta.

Maybe it really was end of days.

Hopefully not, but either way, her sayin' that nice thing, left an awkward pause in the conversation. 'Cuz he didn't know WHAT the hell he was supposed to say back!

Fortunately Carol was there though, and after two beats, she just moved to redirect things by turning all their attentions over to Sophia. And that little girl, God, she was still hangin' onto him so tight, with those quick, harsh breaths coming out on his neck, that he hadn't even thought yet about tryin' to put her down.

It seemed mean.

That was before Carol reached out to run her fingers along her daughter's bare calf.

"Honey," she whispered, "how about I go make you some hot chocolate, would you like that?"

And though Daryl could feel on his skin, the faint murmur that came back in answer to the hot chocolate question . . . hell if he had any idea what that girl actually said.

So he patted her back.

"What was that darlin'?"

Which was right when Miss Roberta raised her hand up in the general direction of the living room behind her.

"I think I'm going to go up and check on Evelyn again."

Then she turned and disappeared back through the doorway.

It was clear that she was givin' them a little privacy. A point which Daryl was grateful for, 'cuz the last thing Sophia needed right then was an audience.

And once the sound of the stairs creakin' started to float down to them, that little girl did seem immediately more responsive. Because she slowly lifted up her head to look over at him . . . and then down at her mama.

Seeing the look on her daughter's face . . . a tiny bit less tense than it had been in the truck . . . Carol reached up to touch her cheek.

"How you doing, baby?"

After a second's pause, Sophia gave her back a small shrug. So Carol tried the other question again.

"Do you think some hot chocolate might make you feel better?"

That time her daughter bit her lip.

"Uh huh."

And Carol's eyes crinkled, because chocolate . . . in all its forms . . . was a wonderful thing. Apparently it could even fix days like this.

So she picked up her daughter's hand, and kissed the back of her fingers.

"Okay then," she whispered as she tipped her head back, "so if you go wash up, and put on your pajamas, when you come out, we can snuggle up for a bit on the couch with hot chocolate and those cookies I made yesterday."

"And Daryl?" Sophia immediately came back with a worried bite of her lip. And Carol nodded.

"Of course," she continued with a light rub of her daughter's arm, "he's not leaving yet. But," her eyebrow inched up slightly, "he does have to make a phone call to his police friend. So he'll do that while you're getting ready for bed, okay?"

Sophia nodded.

"Okay."

So with that all finally settled . . . that they were all safe there, and Daryl wasn't leaving . . . he stooped down, and Sophia loosened her legs to drop her feet to the floor. Still though, before she let go of him completely, she gave him one more tight squeeze around the neck . . . almost like she was afraid if she let him go, it was going to be the last time she saw him . . . before she slowly took one step backwards.

"You promise not to leave?" She asked him with a furrow to her brow.

And he brought his hand up, and made the sign of the cross over his heart.

"On my word, darlin'," he whispered back, "I'll be here when you come out."

At that, she let out a little sigh, and an, "okay," before she finally turned to start walking away.

"Don't forget to do your neck, honey," Carol called after her, "and hang up your towel when you're done."

Those might have seemed like silly things to be bringing up given the fright her daughter had had, but Carol didn't want her to dwell on the noises in the dark. Especially ones that Daryl himself had just said, might not have been anything more than a wild animal out for an early dinner. And the bottom line was, no matter what it was that had scared those animals, that thing was now miles and MILES off outside of town. And everything _here_ , in town, still seemed to be just fine.

Which meant that the sooner they got things focused back to some kind of normal, the better.

And fortunately Sophia seemed to be moving her brain in that direction too. Because the last thing Carol heard before her daughter disappeared around the corner, was another sigh of, "okay, Mama." Then with the sounds of those little Keds still making a faint, trudging, squeak on the hardwood, Carol finally turned back to Daryl.

She bit her lip.

And his expression softened then as he reached out to slide his arms around her body, and pull her over to his chest. An action which obviously elicited no resistance from her. On the contrary, she just snuggled in closer, with her ear over his heart, and her arms wrapped around his waist.

"She was just a little shook up, Mama," Daryl murmured with a rub of his hand down her back, "but she'll be fine. You know that."

"Yeah," Carol swallowed, "I know," she closed her eyes, "I just want her to be fine now."

"Yeah," he let out a sigh, "I get that." And then he tipped his head down to rest against hers. Which was really all she'd wanted since the lake.

Just that contact with him.

And that contact worked just as she'd hoped it would. Because she started to feel calmer the moment she breathed him in. It was better still when she felt his arms tighten and pull her in even closer. It was clear to her then why Sophia had been hanging off of him like a spider monkey.

If Carol could get away with it she probably would too.

Unfortunately she was about sixty pounds too heavy though, to make that work without breaking Daryl's neck. So she had to suffice with just the good hugging while keeping both feet on the floor. And she probably could've stayed there with him like that indefinitely, if she hadn't suddenly remembered she was supposed to be making hot chocolate.

And it was just then, when she started to straighten up, that there was a creak from one of the boards on the stairs.

Fortunately though, the stairs weren't visible from where she and Daryl were standing . . . the staircase led up from the living room in the center of the house, and they were still in the front hall . . . so she and Daryl had time to separate before Miss Roberta appeared back in the doorway again.

But seeing the look on the other woman's face . . . a mixture of shock and grief . . . made Carol immediately reach out to grab Daryl's fingers again.

"What's wrong?" She asked half on a panic. "Is it to Miss Evelyn?"

But Miss Roberta immediately shook her head.

"No," her brow darkened, "she's still sleeping, so I went into the guest room to watch the news. And they just had a Breaking announcement about Manhattan."

"Oh God," Carol's eyes widened, "what happened now?"

"Well," Miss Roberta took in a tight breath, "the governor said that whatever the fire wasn't consuming, those crazy people were attacking, so today they pulled the last of the emergency workers out, and then they blew the bridges and tunnels to seal it all up. So as of eight o'clock tonight," she swallowed, "the island of Manhattan, and the quarter of a million people that were still left on it, are gone."

Her voice faded there at the end, but still, the words hit Carol like a physical punch. Because all week, whenever New York was on the news, or she was talking about it with Daryl, she kept thinking somehow they'd beat the odds there. That they'd manage to turn it around.

But that hadn't happened.

And feeling Daryl's fingers tighten around hers, she turned to look over at him.

"When is this going to end?" She asked with a crack to her voice. And his jaw clenched.

"I don't know sweetheart," he let out a heavy breath, "but we'll just pray that's the only city that goes."

The idea that they'd actually lost a _whole_ city, New York of all places . . . was insane. And that was after almost a full week of nothin' but insanity. And he could see the news was definitely hittin' Carol hard.

Her eyes were watering, and she was rubbing her stomach.

And though he wasn't really comfortable expressing his affection for her openly in front of Miss Roberta, it also didn't sit right just lettin' his girl be in pain and not doing nothin' about it. So finally he just said fuck it, and dropped her hand, to reach over and slide his arm around her waist instead.

She immediately grasped onto his wrist.

And he was too busy thinkin' about Carol, and if there was anything else he could say to maybe make her feel better, to even really notice what Miss Roberta was doing. That was until she spoke.

"You have your mother's hands."

And his eyes snapped over to see that Miss Roberta was staring down to where his hand was pressed against Carol's stomach.

Before he could say anything though, he saw the older woman blink and look back up to his face.

There were tears in her eyes.

"I never thought about that," she continued on a sad whisper, "as much as you look like her in so many other ways, I just thought you'd have your daddy's hands."

Daryl's jaw clenched. And thinkin' he was maybe getting where she was going with that, he let out a slow breath. Then he shook his head.

"No ma'am," he gave her a look, "I do _not_ have my daddy's hands. So if that's been your thinkin' all these years," his voice started to thicken, "if that's been your main _problem_ with me all these years, then you can let that go."

For a moment there was nothing but silence, though Daryl could feel how Carol's fingernails were diggin' deep into his arm. To say there was some tension there, would not have even begun to describe the moment.

Finally though, Miss Roberta tipped her head.

"That was not the only thing," she answered softly, and with clear pain in her voice, "but it was the main one. All week though, Evelyn's been telling me to look past those other things, and just take a look at how you were with," she gestured towards Carol, "Carol and Sophia." Her jaw twitched, "and I'll admit I don't see any of your daddy, or," she made a face, "Merle, in how you are with them. You've been kind, and affectionate . . . and gentle," her lips pursed, "and I did not think those were thing that a Dixon man could be."

"Well," Daryl let out a faint sigh, "I'm not sure what to say to that, except I ain't my daddy or my brother. And," he shook his head as his voice hardened slightly, "I don't know why so many people in this town know I got two parents, but just assume I'm gonna be the carbon of the asshole."

Apparently hearing that faint bit of bitterness creepin' into his voice . . . it came up every once in a while when he got sick of living with that Dixon cloud . . . Carol brought her free hand up to touch his cheek. And then as her arm fell back to her side, she quietly cut in.

"He's Laurel's son too, Miss Roberta. And you loved her. So with the world tipping into whatever this ugliness is we're going into right now, maybe," she let out a slow breath, "it's a good time to try and let some of the old stuff go."

Seeing a tear slip down the other woman's face, Carol knew she'd made her point there. So she said nothing else. Because she had to figure that after forty years of anger and bitterness, just the fact that after a week of watching them together, had led this woman to allow even for the _possibility_ , that Daryl wasn't the monster she'd always thought he was, had to have taken more from her than Carol thought maybe she was up to giving.

At least in one night.

And to that end, that's when Carol saw the other woman reach up to wipe her eyes, right before she cleared her throat.

"You might have a point there," she murmured with a slow nod, "but it's not always easy to let the old things go."

"No," Carol gave her a gentle smile, "but we can try though."

Miss Roberta blinked again. Then she took a deep breath and took two steps forward.

At that point there was only a foot separating her from Daryl. And Carol could feel the tension in his body as they both waited to see what Miss Roberta was going to do next.

Carol was just praying to God she didn't slap him.

But that didn't seem to be where her thoughts were, instead she just stared up with her watery eyes locked onto his curious ones. Finally she tipped her head.

"Do you remember much about your mama?" She asked softly. And Carol felt that tension in his body increase even further . . . but he did answer the question.

"Yes," Daryl whispered, "I remember everything. Her voice, her smell, the type of cigarettes she smoked, the type of liquor she drank," his words faded off, "how I'd hear her cryin' in the bedroom after daddy left for work."

These weren't things he'd ordinarily talk about, with anyone, but he could see from the look on Miss Roberta's face, that she really was trying to push through whatever this ugliness was that she'd always seen when she looked at him. And he was guessin' that ugliness had to do with his daddy.

So now she was trying to see his momma.

And he could tell from the way the tears were filling her eyes, that she had some memories there too. But then she surprised him, shocked him really, by reachin' out to put her hand on his cheek.

"For whatever the cost was in the end," she breathed out on a broken whisper, "you should know that your mama loved you more than herself." Her voice faded, "she thought you were the best thing she ever did with her life."

Daryl's eyes widened then.

"Mrs. Loretta told me that too, but I always thought she was just," he bit his lip, "being nice."

"Well," Miss Roberta let out a faint huff as her hand fell away and she took a step back, "she was being nice in telling you, but she didn't make it up. Laurel said that all the time, to anyone who would listen. She adored you, and she wanted so much more for you than this town that she never got out of. But," her lips pressed together, "if you are the man that you seem to be with Carol and Sophia, then obviously you have more of Laurel in you than I thought you did. So," she let out a heavy sigh as her eyes fell down to the hardwood, "if you would allow it," her eyes snapped back to his, "then maybe we could start over fresh tomorrow."

For a moment Daryl just stood there staring down at this woman who his mother had once loved. And for the first time, he was maybe seein' the thing in her that made him understand why that was. And that thing was causing a faint lump to form in his throat. But he swallowed over that.

And then he shrugged.

"It don't have to wait 'til tomorrow, Miss Roberta. I never had no issues with you. So you wanna be friends, we can be friends, 'cuz I think Momma would like it if we were. So whaddya say," his eyebrow quirked up, "you wanna try that?"

She sniffled and nodded.

"Yes," she let out a slow breath, "I would like to try that. And I have to say," she tipped her head, "you're being the much bigger person here." Her voice thickened as she let her eyes fall, "much bigger than I ever was."

Even though Daryl knew he had the upper hand there, in the moral sense . . . he didn't want it. He didn't wanna try and make Miss Roberta feel bad, just so he could feel good. Because there was never any pleasure to be taken from other people's hurt. That was his daddy's way of doing things.

And he didn't take that from him neither.

"Miss Roberta," he continued softly, trying to put her at ease, "I'm not bein' the bigger person, I just," he bit his lip, "I really ain't upset with ya. Now I can't say it _never_ bothered me none that you had issues with me just for my family, but," he shrugged, "you were hardly the only one in this town that thought like that, so I stopped takin' it personal a long time ago. It's just life," he let out a huff, "and it ain't no bother."

Feeling Carol squeeze his fingers at that, he knew she was givin' the floor a little eye roll. But before he could do more than give her belly a light tap with his pinky finger, he saw Miss Roberta was giving him a smile. It was a watery one, but, damned if it wasn't the first real one he'd ever seen actually directed _at_ him, _from_ her!

"Your mama used to use that phrase all the time," she whispered, "it was always, 'ain't no bother. About the weather. Muddy shoes, ripped hems, mean, gossipy ladies in church. Whenever you thought _something_ would have to get under her nerves, she'd always end up saying that instead." She huffed, "ain't no bother. It was like all the nonsense in the world, just rolled right off of her."

His eyes widened.

"I don't remember that. But," he nodded, "I do recall she was pretty easy goin' most the time, so I guess I musta picked up the phrase from her." Then he looked over at Carol with a little smirk.

"See, all the times you roll your eyes at me, you're rollin' your eyes at my momma."

And she chuckled.

"I'm not even going to answer that right now. But," she looked over to Miss Roberta, "are you two okay? Or at least," she gave both of them a hopeful smile, "no bother for now?"

And she saw Daryl's lip quirk up at that, just before Miss Roberta's watery eyes crinkled, ever so slightly.

"Yes," there was a faint bit of amusement on her face, as she gave Carol back a little nod, "no bother for now."

And then she cleared her throat.

"So I guess I'll wish you two a good night, and Daryl," she tipped her head, "if you're staying over, Carol will show you where the towels are."

Somehow understandin' this was step one in her effort to 'make friends,' he made sure to give her a nod back, along with the "thank you, 'ma'am." He was just acknowledging that he knew what was happening.

And he appreciated the courtesy.

"Yes," Carol added softly, "good night Miss Roberta. And if um," her tone sobered, "well, if Miss Evelyn needs anything, don't hesitate to wake me up, okay?"

And she saw Miss Roberta nod at that.

"Thank you Carol, but I'm hoping she'll sleep through the night. She did take quite a bit of that headache medicine. It should keep her knocked out. At least I hope so," her brow darkened slightly, "she was looking a little sweaty the last time I was up there."

Feeling Daryl's hand tighten around hers, Carol posed the question then that she knew was on both their minds.

"Sweaty like, with a fever?" She asked with what she hoped was a not too panicky tone. And Miss Roberta shook her head.

"I don't think so. She didn't have a fever before bed. But after she fell asleep, I went up and saw that she'd pulled too many blankets on when she'd laid down, so I'm thinking that was probably the reason for the sweating. But I pulled off the quilt and put on the ceiling fan, so I'm sure she's cooled down by now. And I'm going to sleep in the guest room tonight so I can set my alarm to check on her every couple hours just to make sure it doesn't look like she's coming down with anything worse than hay fever."

"Okay," Carol nodded, "that sounds like a good plan, but like I said, if you need any help, making tea, or just taking turns checking on her so you can get some sleep, just let me know."

Miss Roberta gave her a soft, sad, smile then.

"That's very kind sweetie, but I really do think it's probably just hay fever. She gets it every year around this time. And you know," she tugged her blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, "if it wasn't for this damn flu, I wouldn't even be thinking twice about doing anything more than making her tea and getting tissues. So," she let out a sigh as started walking backwards down the hall, "if you can just please keep a good thought, I'm sure by morning we'll be able to rule out anything but the allergies."

And with that . . . before either Carol or Daryl could say anything more . . . she turned and disappeared back into the living room again.

It wasn't until he heard the creak of the stairs, that Daryl patted Carol's stomach.

"I'm not much for prayin'," he murmured, "but maybe you could send one up on the hay fever thing."

"Oh trust me," she turned around in his arms, "I already have that covered."

His eyes crinkled.

"Good. And now _I_ ," he patted her hip, "gotta get that call in to Jolene before it gets any later than it is."

"Yeah," her brow darkened a bit as she once more remembered the real issue of the night, "right. And I'm still on hot chocolate duty, so," her lips curved in a faint smile, "see you in the kitchen?"

"Yep," his lip quirked up, "five minutes, tops."

It probably wouldn't even take that long. Really, he just wanted to get the damn call done, 'cuz that conversation with Miss Roberta (though important for other reasons) had added an extra five or six minutes onto what was already a fifteen minute delay beyond the 'event' itself. And granted that delay was on him, but using a cell phone while bouncing your pickup, twenty miles over the speed limit down an unlit, unpaved, back country road, was a sure fire way of killing yourself dead. Now that he was back at the house though, he was startin' to get a bit antsy about not calling in yet. And that was just on the off, OFF chance, there was something serious goin' out there at the lake, that needed to be looked into.

So after Carol had started down the front hallway that led back to the main entrance on the kitchen, he took a deep breath. Then he looked down as he finally slipped the cell phone out of his pocket.

 _Time to call the police._

/*/*/*/*/

The call with Jolene didn't take long. The two of them might have occasionally worked at cross purposes over their adult years . . . she was the one who'd arrested him for the bar fight that broke the cop's nose and gave him three months in the joint . . . but they also had an unusual bond. For one thing, he knew she trusted him with her life. Literally.

He'd saved it twice.

Once when they were nine, and she swam out too far at the lake, got a cramp and almost drowned. She went down three times before he was able to get out there, and drag her back to the shore.

He still had nightmares about that sometimes.

Then the other thing happened when they were twenty-eight. There was a bar fight at The Vulcan, he was a patron (and fight participant) and she was called out there to break it up. But while she was in the process of doing that, this drunk off his ass, asshole who was passing through town, cracked her over the head with a pool stick, and then attempted to jam a broken bottle into her throat, all while screamin', "BITCHES MUST DIE!" The guy already had her on the floor when Daryl (who was already in cuffs) saw what was happenin', ran up and kicked the guy in the head with his steel toed work boot.

That asshole didn't wake up for almost twenty-four hours.

And when he did, it wasn't in a hospital bed . . . in was in his cozy little jail cell. And for that, Daryl got a walk on the kick . . . which was 'technically' felonious assault with a shod foot . . . and one future get out of jail free card, from the entirety of the Blackburn Sheriff's Office.

Not just Jolene.

That note was given to him by the chief himself, thirteen years ago, and he still hadn't cashed it in. He probably never would. 'Cuz using it woulda cheapened what he did that night. Because all he was doin' was doing right.

And getting a reward for that woulda been wrong.

Jolene knew he had those kinds of rules. And so when he got her on the line, and told her what went down at the lake, and _then_ told her what he'd heard when he was in the city those days passed, she immediately put him on hold. When she came back a minute later, she had him patched in on a speaker phone, so the other two deputies workin' that night, (Wordy and Danny), could hear everything he said, when he walked through the whole thing again. And he made sure to flag that it _coulda_ been just an animal . . . but he thought better to say something than not.

Jolene had agreed.

So by the point where they hung up, Wordy and Danny were headin' out to do a check of the area around the lake, and up Rural Route 2.

Just to be sure.

Once that talk was done though, Daryl felt a WHOLE lot better. Because he'd done the "responsible" thing, and told the "proper authorities." 'Course on an ordinary day, he didn't have much use for the proper authorities. Really by his estimate, ninety percent of them could just go fuck themselves.

But these days were a little different.

And they were very far from ordinary.

Which was why when Daryl tucked his phone back into his pocket, that tension at the base of his skull, wasn't quite so tight. The _itch_ was still there, but until the world righted itself, he doubted that itch was really gonna go completely away.

But such was the way of things right now.

And that was why he did a quick check of the window locks around the first floor, before he went out to the kitchen to help Carol with the hot chocolates. And while he was stirring theirs up, in honor of that itch, he made sure to add a healthy shot of whiskey into his cup. Fortunately the biddies kept their liquor right there in the kitchen on the top of the refrigerator.

It was very convenient.

Him swiping that shot though, got him a little smile from Carol . . . and then a whisper in the ear for him to put in a double shot into hers. Yeah, he'd found himself a girl who liked hard liquor in her hot chocolate.

If he wasn't sure she was perfect before, that damn well clinched it.

And after their drinks were made, he carried the cups into the living room for her, while she pulled together a plate of cookies for Sophia. It was already about twenty minutes past that girl's bedtime, but clearly bedtime hours were being extended out that night. And when Sophia came shuffling into the living room with a shiny clean face, and Anna Marie tucked under her arm, he was thinkin' she looked a little better than she had when she'd left them to go wash up.

Not so heavy hearted at least.

Either way though, once she spotted him, she made a beeline right for that soft, overstuffed, couch. That's where he was sitting in the corner, trying not to get nothin' dirty . . . the fabric was yellow of all things . . . while he waited for Carol to come back from the kitchen with those cookies. Sophia though, she wasn't looking for her cookies, she just wanted to climb up into his lap.

So that's what she did.

And she had on those butterfly PJs they'd bought in the city, and her skin smelled like strawberries from that soap they'd bought her there too. And when she cuddled up, with her small fists holdin' onto his shirt, and her head tucked back against his neck, he tipped his head down and brushed his fingers along her back.

Because he was really, REALLY wishing she was his.

Then he heard Carol's footsteps coming down the hall, about ten seconds before he felt her fingers run through his hair. That was right before she leaned down to kiss Sophia's cheek.

"You feeling better, baby?" She murmured while she walked around to put the cookies down on the table. And Daryl felt that little girl's warm breath against his throat, right before she whispered back.

"Uh huh."

It was then though she seemed to notice the plate Carol had just put down on the table, and she sat up a bit. And Daryl could see her eyein' those big, fat, chocolate chip cookies, like Merle did his first Sunday morning beer.

Like it was a religious thing.

So Daryl reached out, snatched one of those sugary treats up, and passed it over. Once she was munchin' away, spilling crumbs down his shirt in the process, Carol handed him his hot chocolate.

Though given the kick he got when he took a sip, he figured she'd gotten their cups mixed up.

"I think this is yours sweetheart," he murmured with a smirk, "it just cleared out my sinuses." And she let out a little snort as she switched his cup for the one she'd just picked up herself. Once they each had their drink, and Sophia was settled in with him, Anna Marie, and that messy cookie of hers, Carol put on the TV. Though when the images of the Brooklyn Bridge fallin' into the water, came on screen, she quickly changed the channel.

Nobody needed to see that.

From there she kept on flippin' up and up, until she finally reached the cartoon section of the channels. She slowed her clickin' a bit then, until finally she found that yellow sponge Sophia had liked so much on the hotel TVs. He was talking to his starfish buddy.

That's where Carol stopped.

Course ordinarily, Daryl would not have been much inclined for watchin' kiddy cartoons, but he could feel how Sophia paused in eatin' her cookie, to let out a little sigh when she saw the pictures on the screen. So he patted her back.

'Cuz that was good enough for him.

Then Carol pushed her sneakers off, pulled her legs up on the couch under that flowy skirt, and cuddled her whole self in on his other side. She had one hand holdin' her mug, and one hand holdin' onto Sophia's bare foot, playing with those tiny toes.

She had her head on his shoulder.

And sitting there with the two of them like that, almost like they were his own real little family . . . the kind he never even let himself dare think about havin' . . . gave Daryl a warmth in his chest like he'd never felt before. It was really about the happiest he could remember being, ever, in his life. And that feelin' went on long enough . . . at least two whole sponge guy episodes . . . for him to (almost) forget, the scare they'd had out at the lake.

But then his phone rang.

And he winced, because the only person who could be calling him, was Jolene. Right before they'd hung up . . . a good fifty plus minutes earlier . . . he'd given her the number of the burner, and asked her to let him know for sure if her people thought everything was okay . . . or if there might be a problem.

He was now bracin' himself for the problem.

Unfortunately though he couldn't reach his phone, not with his ladies draped all over him, so Carol had to dig it out of his pocket. And he could see how she was bitin' down on her lip when she passed it over.

"It might not be bad news," he whispered, while pressing his finger down on the green button. And he saw Carol give him a little smile for tryin' to make her feel better, but that smile immediately fell away when they heard the noise comin' through the phone.

It was Jolene yelling his name.

And feeling a flood of adrenaline hitting his body . . . 'cuz yeah, this was DEFINITELY gonna be BAD news(!) . . . he quickly shifted Sophia over to her mama, as he hissed back through the receiver.

"What happened?!"

Then he listened, wide eyed, and tight chested, as Jolene started runnin' down, in a damn near hysterical voice . . . which was NOT like her at all, she was a freakin' cucumber out on the job . . . what Wordy and Danny had found out by the lake. It didn't take long though for Daryl to realize why she was so on the verge. Because it turned out it _had_ been a person that he'd heard out there in the woods. Jolene said when her guys rolled up, and started down towards the water with their flashlights waving and shotguns out, they found that person there down on their knees in the mud. He had his face in the belly of a doe.

He was tearing out pieces of it with his teeth.

And when Daryl muttered, "oh Jesus," he felt Carol's fingernails dig, deep, into his arm. His eyes snapped over to see that hers were wide and watery.

The question was there even without the words, so he just gave her a sharp nod. And though he wanted to say something, anything, that he thought might comfort her . . . she'd just winced and closed her eyes . . . he couldn't do more than put his hand on her knee, before Jolene's voice snapped him back to that horrible scene she was still tellin' him about out at the lake. But he was absolutely POSITIVE he had to have just heard her last words wrong . . . he shook his head . . . 'cuz there was no way they could be right.

"Wait, Jolene," he cut in with a scowl, and a growl, " _WHO_ did you say they found out there?!"

"It was JACK, Daryl!" She yelled back, "It was Jack Applebaum!" Then her voice broke, "Wordy had to shoot him in the head, because he started for them as soon as he saw the lights!"

Feeling a wave of grief crash into him, Daryl slumped back in a stunned silence. His eyes were just starting to burn, when he felt Carol's hand covering over his where it was clutched around her knee.

Then she pleaded, half in tears herself, "hon, what IS it?! Tell me she's saying!"

But he wasn't ready for that yet . . . sharin' . . . 'cuz that would break him right now. And he couldn't afford to break. So he closed his eyes and swallowed over the lump formin' in his throat.

"How the _hell_ did this happen, Jolene?"

When he spoke, it sounded like he'd been swallowin' cut glass, but at least his voice didn't crack. Which could not be said for Jolene. But of course she'd been friends with Jack as long as he had. That day at the lake when she'd almost drowned . . . Jack was the one that helped Daryl drag her up over the rocks. And Jolene was the one that brought Jack the telegram tellin' him that his little girl had been blown outta the sky. They all had a long, messy, history.

One that should never have ended like this.

"We don't know yet," she choked out, "I just got the radio call back. The guys are trying to follow his tracks, to see how he got out there. Because his truck's not there, and that's a long walk from his house."

"Oh," Daryl cut in anxiously, "the house! I was out there yesterday. We workin' on the pen for the new foal, and he was fine then. Not acting funny at all."

"Yeah," he heard Jolene sniffle and then the click of a pen, "okay, that's helpful. What time did you leave?"

"Uh," he closed his eyes thinkin' back, "well, we left the farm around two-thirty, but Jack had gone inside probably a half hour before that 'cuz Theresa wasn't, uh . . . feelin' well."

And Daryl stopped. Because the 'oh shit' wave that was suddenly crashin' over him, was about on par with the new tension he heard in Jolene's voice then.

"What do you _mean_ she wasn't FEELING well, Daryl? What was wrong with her? And you said we, who was there with you?"

The questions were comin' out rapid fire then, and Daryl could feel a throbbing formin' in his temple, that made him wanna go punch a wall. But that wasn't really an option at the moment . . . these weren't his walls . . . so he had to suffice for jumping up.

Then he started pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table.

"I don't KNOW what was wrong with her," he bit back, while yanking on the ends of his hair, "we never saw her or talked to her. She was upstairs, and there was a bunch of weird noise, like things falling and glass breaking. And I was there with uh . . ."

And he paused for a second, his eyes dartin over to Sophia sitting in Carol's lap . . . she was starin' up at him with those wide, scared, eyes of hers.

He had to look away.

"I was there with my girlfriend's daughter, Sophia," he continued softly while walking over to give Sophia's hair a gentle tousle . . . though he still couldn't look at her right then, "she's little and she had to go the bathroom, so we were in the house so she could do her business. That's when we heard the noises, but Jack came in just when I was gonna go upstairs, and he explained how Theresa'd been taking her depression pills lately with whiskey, and so it'd be better if he checked on her himself. That's the last time I saw him. But like I said, he thought she was just drunk and I never saw her to say one way or the other."

"All right," he could hear Jolene's breath coming in heavy pants over the scribbling of a pen, "okay, this is really helpful, Daryl, thank you. We're going to go check on Theresa. And you and uh," he heard a split second pause, "Sophia, you're both fine, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he swallowed as his eyes darted back over to his two girls, "we're just fine. And we didn't eat or drink nothing at the house, if that matters."

Then he heard Jolene let out a faint sigh.

"Honestly Daryl, we don't know what matters, but that's good that you didn't ingest anything. Though from what I've been hearing, it doesn't seem like there's any way of knowing of what triggers the first case. After that . . ."

And she stopped.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat, "that's not a conversation for now. But suffice it to say, from what I know, it sounds like you two are probably in the clear. If you start feeling strange, or running a temperature though, you call me ASAP, you got that?"

"Yep," his jaw clenched, "I got that."

For a second there was just quiet on the phone line, but after almost four decades of friendship, Daryl knew Jolene well enough to say that she wasn't done talking. And sure enough, after another second, he could hear her letting out a slow breath, and then a muttered curse.

"There's more you need to know, Daryl," she continued on a tight whisper, "things I'm not supposed to share yet about this infection, and what was wrong with Jack. And I want to tell you," she continued on as her voice dropped even further, "but I can't talk now, because the sheriff just got here. But you need to come see me tomorrow first thing. If nothing else happens overnight, I'm off at seven. You call me on my cell after that, and we'll meet up. Because you know that I owe you big, and this is shit you need to know," her voice cracked, "or you're not going to get through this!"

Feeling his stomach drop at both Jolene's words, and the fear in her voice, Daryl suddenly realized that there might be a whole other WORLD of shit going on with these new diseases, that he hadn't seen yet! The thought of it was enough for him to have to close his eyes for a second just to reset his brain. But when he opened his lids again, he blinked, and set his jaw.

"Okay," he growled, "I'm gonna call you at 7:01, and if you're off, we're gonna meet up behind the liquor store where we used to bum smokes when we were kids."

"Yeah," he heard her swallow just before her jaw snapped, "yeah, that works."

"All right," he continued in the same hushed tone as his eyes dropped down to the floorboards, "is there anything else you can tell me now?"

For a moment there was another pause on the other end of the line, and then, "get your guns out. Because even if it's quiet tonight," she slowly exhaled, "this isn't over yet."

Then she hung up.

After that there was another second where Daryl just stood there with the phone pressed to his ear, listenin' to the dial tone. But then he heard Carol sniffle, and he snapped back to what was going on around him.

So he dropped the call, and shoved the cell back into his pocket. That's when he turned and looked over at the two people who had, over a matter of just days, become the most important thing in his life.

Sophia was sitting in Carol's lap, and they were both starin' back at him with the same wide, watery, blue eyes. And he hated so much that they were scared. And he hated even more that this time there was nothin' he could do to make it better.

In fact . . . he walked over and stooped down, reaching out to put one hand on Carol's cheek, and the other on Sophia's . . . he was just about to make it even worse.

"I gotta leave for a little bit," he said softly.

And seeing both sets of those big blue eyes get even wider and more panicked, right before Carol sputtered out, "but why?! What's happening?" he felt like a complete asshole.

Even though his leaving was a necessary thing.

"I just gotta run back to my place, and get the shotgun and my bow."

At that, those watery blue eyes of Carol's, became two full pools. Ones that immediately began to spill over.

"So the infection's definitely here now?" She whispered on a broken voice, "And who was it out at the lake? It was Jack, right? Because that's who it sounded like you were talking about."

"Yeah," his voice started to thicken, "yeah, it was Jack I heard out in the woods. He was sick. And when the deputies got there, they uh," his eyes started to water, "they had to shoot him."

Seeing Carol wince right before she murmured, "oh, hon, I'm so sorry," just made it even harder for Daryl to keep his composure. And then he saw Sophia starting to cry, and he felt even worse.

"Oh darlin'," he brushed his thumb along her cheek, "please no tears, or you're gonna break my heart."

"I'm sorry Daryl," she sniffled back, "but I feel bad about Mr. Applebaum."

"Yeah baby girl," he blinked and swallowed as his hand fell down to take her fingers instead, "I feel bad too. But we gotta be strong right now, okay? Because I need you to look after your mama for a little bit. Just 'til I get back. Can you do that for me?"

She sniffled again and brought her fist up to scrub at her eyes.

"Uh huh."

"All right," he gave her a little smile, "good girl. Now Mama," his eyes bounced up to Carol's, "I need to talk to you for a second, so you walk me out, okay?"

Carol's watery eyes locked onto his, right before she gave him a tight nod.

"Yep," she slowly pushed herself forward so Sophia's feet would fall to the floor, "baby, you wait here."

"Yes, ma'am," Sophia sniffed as she kept wiping at her face. So Daryl leaned down to press a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Be right back, darlin," he murmured with a squeeze of her shoulder. "But what do you do if something bad happens while I'm gone?"

And she tipped her head back to look up at him.

"I grab Mama and we run away," she whispered, "we run until it's safe. And we don't stop until then."

Those were almost word for the word, the exact instructions he'd given that girl the first night they'd met. And he was so proud of her that she remembered them so well.

So he gave her a wink.

"That's my girl. You just remember to stay with your Mama and everything will be fine." He slowly came up to his feet, "and I'll be back before you know it."

Then his eyes bounced over to Carol's, and he reached out to take her hand.

"Come on sweetheart," he started walking her out of the living room, "just a quick talk."

There were just a few more things he wanted to tell her, that he didn't want Sophia to be privy to. It was bad enough she had to hear about Jack, but as much as possible he wanted to shield her from the worst of what was going on out in the world.

Even if the world was starting to dig its claws into Blackburn too.

So he continued on speaking, now in a harsh whisper, telling Carol everything else that he and Jolene had talked about. Most particularly about how she wanted him to meet her tomorrow morning when she got off shift, because she said she knew more about this craziness, that she wanted him to know. But that in the meantime he should get his guns, just in case something else happened tonight. And when they got to that part in the conversation, it was just when he and Carol reached the front door. And Carol blinked and sniffled then, clearly processing what he'd just said.

"Okay," she reached out to touch his chest, "so that means you're going to stay here with us then?"

"Yeah," he gave her a small, tight, smile, "we're on Plan B now, sweetheart. So I just gotta get the shotgun, the bow, and pack a quick bag, then I'll be right back. So," he squeezed her hand, "twenty, twenty-five minutes tops."

"You promise you'll come right back," she murmured, "no detours?" And he tipped his head down to kiss her temple.

"On my word, sweetheart," he whispered with a nuzzle of her cheek, "no detours."

"All right," she leaned back to give him a faint, watery, smile, "that's all I needed to hear."

And even though his chest was hurtin' with grief over Jack, and his stomach was twistin' with fear over this terrible sickness spreading further into town, Daryl also felt another stray spark of happiness then too.

Just from that look she gave him.

Which was why he found himself pulling her over to his chest, so he could give her one quick hug. But he knew he needed to get going. Because the sooner he left, the sooner he'd get back.

And all that mattered was gettin' back.

"All right," he put his hand on the doorknob, "last thing. If anybody knocks on the door while I'm gone, you don't answer. And if Miss Roberta comes down to get the door, you make sure she don't answer neither. You tell her what happened, and you tell her I'm coming right back. And if there's any kinda problem with somebody trying to get inside, you follow the same rules I told Sophia. You run until you're somewhere safe. And here, I think the safest place to hole up, is upstairs, locked in with the ladies, okay?"

"Yeah," her brow scrunched as she gave him a quick nod, "okay, that's what we'll do," she tipped her head, "if we have to."

"Right," he let out a heavy breath, "if you have to." And then he paused for a second, and Carol was almost positive that he was going to kiss her . . . but instead he stuck his hand into his pocket.

And he pulled out his knife.

"Here," he shoved it into her hand, "rule one is run, run, run, but I'd rather leave you with this than not have anything to protect yourself."

Her eyes started to burn as her fingers closed around the smooth leather holder.

"Trust me," she looked up at him with a watery smile, "run, run, run, is going to be the only plan, we need."

The corner of his lip quirked up, right before he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"We're gonna cuddle up good tonight."

And when he pulled away, he gave her a little wink, and she reached up to brush her thumb over his lips.

"Be safe."

He nodded.

"You too."

And that was the last thing either of them said, before Daryl finally turned the knob, and opened the door.

As soon as he was out on the porch, Carol quickly locked up again. Then she looked down at the dress she was still wearing and decided that if she did need to run, run, run, for a second time that night, that she'd rather have more appropriate clothes on for the chase.

So after poking her head into the living room to tell the still sniffling Sophia . . . who was huddled over watching a new SpongeBob . . . where she was going, Carol ran down to her bedroom, to change out of her dress, and into her pajama pants and tank top, plus sports bra. Then she snatched up her phone off the bed, and with it, and the knife in hand, she went down to the kitchen to get her purse.

Not that she really expected to have to run anywhere else that night, but if this week (and Daryl) had taught her anything, it was to always be prepared. So she tucked the phone and the knife into her bag, and brought the bag back into the living room with her.

That's when she checked the time.

And though she was hoping that somehow Daryl would be on his way back by then, really she'd only managed to kill about seven minutes since he'd walked out the door. Which meant that there were at least another twenty to go.

And with no other mindless tasks she could think of to keep herself occupied, Carol dropped her bag down on the table, and herself onto the couch. Then she pulled her feet up under her, and cuddled up with Sophia under her arm. Because really, that was her favorite thing to do anyway.

Cuddle with her baby girl.

And so they sat there watching cartoons, while the minutes ticked away. Another ten had passed . . . eighteen down, ten plus to go . . . when suddenly Carol heard a scream. Not from outside though.

It came from just over their heads.

The bolt of terror that hit her then, COMPLETELY dwarfed the amount of fear she'd felt even out at the lake. And her eyes shot upwards as she jumped off the couch and snatched up her bag.

She yanked the knife out, and threw the sheath to the floor.

"Mama," Sophia whispered, half in tears, half in a panic as she clawed at her shirttail, "we need to run!"

And Carol spun around.

"I know baby," she grabbed her daughter's hand, "but I don't know yet WHERE to run!"

Because Daryl's instructions had covered what to do if there were noises from outside . . . not noises from the INSIDE! And for a moment Carol was almost paralyzed with fear. Because running OUTSIDE, seemed like the stupidest thing in the world! But staying inside . . . where the SCREAMING was going on . . . sounded like a pretty horrible plan too! Also though, leaving the biddies alone with WHATEVER, seemed like a thing that a complete garbage person would do! But Carol knew that she was no warrior. And she had Sophia to think of.

If only she could THINK!

Because they couldn't just keep standing there like idiots. But then she made a quick decision, and she started to yank on Sophia's arm . . . they were going out the front door, and they'd hide somewhere close by until Daryl got back . . . when she heard another sound from upstairs. That time it came from right off the landing.

And it almost sounded like her name.

So with her heart now pounding in her chest, Carol spun around, raising the knife up as she tucked Sophia in behind her.

"WHO'S THERE!" She yelled, "WHAT'S HAPPENING UPSTAIRS?!

For a second there was nothing, and so with her eyes still locked up on the staircase, she started inching herself and Sophia out towards the front hall.

But then suddenly Miss Roberta appeared on the landing. She was in her pajamas, and clearly sobbing and half hysterical. But she wasn't growling.

And she didn't appear to be hurt.

And though Carol's first instinct was to go to her, to see what was wrong . . . she stayed right where she was. Because even if there wasn't any growling coming from that woman right now, she didn't know how this infection started.

And she wasn't going to be the idiot that ran up into it.

So while still slowly moving herself and Sophia towards the front hallway . . . she'd crash them out a window if she had to . . . Carol called, loudly up the staircase.

"ARE YOU SICK, MISS ROBERTA?!"

At that, the other woman shook her head as she finally stumbled towards the stairs.

"No," she continued sobbing, "no, I'm not sick! It's Evelyn! I just went to check on her and she's DEAD, Carol! EVELYN'S DEAD!"

She screamed the last words loud enough that Carol froze again . . . and then most definitely stopped her movements towards the door.

"Oh my God," she gasped, feeling a pang of grief press in against her heart, "how is that possible?! All she had was a headache!"

Oh Jesus! Maybe it was an aneurysm! Or . . . another thought screamed into her head . . . a stroke! Because both of those things probably started with an awful headache. But either way . . . she dropped Sophia's fingers to rush towards the staircase . . . if she was dead, (which was absolutely terrible!) then at least the screaming she'd heard wasn't what she'd feared it was. Her eyes started to burn.

It was just Miss Roberta's grief.

So as the other woman stumbled down the last step and into her arms, Carol let the knife fall out of her hand. It hit the hardwood with a clatter.

"Oh Miss Roberta," she murmured, trying to keep her voice from breaking as she pulled the other woman to her breast, "I'm so, so sorry."

"I just can't BELIEVE it!" Miss Roberta choked out, her words partly muffled against Carol's throat, "I thought for sure it was just the allergies! But then this last time I went in to check on her, she was burning up!" She sniffled and lifted her head, "so I left her for a minute to run to the bathroom and get her some water and Tylenol. But then when I came back," she started to whimper, "she wasn't breathing. And I tried to do CPR, but," her voice broke, "she was gone!"

"Oh," Carol's eyes started to water, "that must have been so awful. But you come on now," she started guiding the other woman through the living room, "let's go sit down."

Carol eyes darted up and around then to catch her daughter's. And she winced at what she saw, because her poor baby looked absolutely shell shocked. But of course she was ten years old, and she'd met three people since they'd moved to Blackburn. And now TWO of those people were dead within an hour of one another!

That was pretty God damn shocking!

And with Roberta on the verge of hysterics again . . . not to mention practically a dead weight against her chest . . . Carol knew that she needed to start getting control of the situation. So first things first . . . her eyes shot back down to Sophia's . . . she needed some help.

"Honey," she hissed, "I need a big person favor. I need you to go get Miss Roberta a glass of water. And then you get the phone, and call 911, tell them we need an ambulance, somebody's very sick. You got that? Water and then the ambulance, okay?"

"Yep," Sophia gave a furious nod as her hands knotted together, "okay!"

And her girl, apparently thankful for ANY kind of task to take her away from Miss Roberta's sobs, turned on her little feet, and tore off down the hall.

And then, even over the sound of Miss Roberta's sobbing, Carol could hear a chair scraping, and then banging around in the cabinets. After that there was a small crash, as what sounded like a few something or others, fell off a shelf.

It was a lot of noise just for a water run.

And while all that was going on out in the kitchen, Carol kept trying to move Miss Roberta through the living room and past the couch. Because she was thinking now that it would be better to get her set up at the kitchen table instead. That way she wouldn't see . . . Carol winced . . . the body, when they brought it down the stairs. Yes, this whole thing was going to be horrible for her either way, but maybe if she was out of the room for Miss Evelyn's transport, it would be SLIGHTLY less traumatic.

That was Carol's hope anyway.

And just then, hearing the sound of the faucet being turned on full blast, Carol had to figure her girl was about done with her errand. So she just kept walking Miss Roberta along, with an arm around her waist, and the other hand on her shoulder, while she soothed in her ear. The words were nonsensical. But they didn't matter. No, all she was trying to do was keep that woman focused on the forward momentum.

And getting down to the kitchen.

They'd just reached the wall with the fireplace . . . which was adjacent to the doorway which led out to the connecting hallway down to the kitchen . . . when Carol saw her daughter rushing back towards them, now with the sloshing water glass in her hand.

But then she suddenly stopped short . . . and that glass hit the floor.

"Mama," she whimpered, "behind you."

And Carol spun around . . . and she lost her breath.

Because there behind them . . . about ten paces back, just on the other side of the couch . . . was Miss Evelyn, staggering forward through the living room. Her eyes were glazed over, and her mouth was hanging open.

And she was growling.

The screech of horror that Carol let out, was loud enough to wake the dead. And then her whole body was surging with adrenaline as she spun back the other way, shoving Miss Roberta forward, as she screamed to her daughter.

"SOPHIA! RUN!"

* * *

 _A/N 2: Finally, we've hit the fan! And we found out what happened to Jack. Poor Jack. But you can see still with the undercurrents, that all of the things boiling around town, have just spilled over at once. And I feel like if Theresa was Patient Zero, and she was sick at church, she could have infected all of those other people, with their varying incubation periods. Like Miss Evelyn. Really though, I found that I couldn't think too much about the logic behind the infection. Because A) everybody has it, but B) not everybody got sick from it/died from it, in the beginning, and C) clearly at the beginning people were getting the infection WITHOUT a bite, because it was called a "flu" so, yeah. I kept trying to pull it apart to a nice rational thing in my mind, but it was like pulling taffy. So in the end, I decided to keep our 'general world knowledge' (at this point) to there still being two diseases. The flu, which is just killing people, and the infection, which is making them go crazy and cannibalistic. Obviously we know they're the same thing, but until society comes to the collective understanding that the DEAD ARE WALKING THE EARTH, people just aren't going to start putting those two things together._

 _Which leads us to Jolene :)_

 _Clearly, you can see from her cryptic comments to Daryl that she's probably in on the big 'twist.' But again, she's a cop, and cops are friends with other cops all over, so if the ones in Atlanta had already figured things out (to an extent) over the weekend, news like that would spread quietly. And you'll find out more there with what she knows, when she and Daryl finally get to talk._

 _So I was writing this chapter and from the beginning of the story Jolene was always going to be a key character, and I had a fuzzy image of her in my head of being little and tom boy'ish because she'd been running around with Daryl and all the other tough boys when they were young. And then obviously later she decided to become a cop. But I didn't really have her 'cast' yet in mind. But then one day I was typing and I looked up to see a Flashpoint rerun was on, and there was teeny little Amy Jo with her ponytail and her SWAT gear hanging out with all the guys, and I was like, "AH! THERE SHE IS!" And yes, Canadians, I did borrow Wordy from Flashpoint too :)_

 _And lastly, I felt REALLY bad that so many of you were clearly getting attached to the biddies! I'm so sorry! But I'd already sketched out this horrible scene with Miss Evelyn turning, back in like December! Seriously, when I got the idea for this thing, most of the key twists that needed to happen, were already clear in my mind and I jotted them down. So basically, from the point that you met the ladies, "this" had already happened. And I couldn't tell you that, but the more scenes I wrote them into, the worse I felt about the fact that I'd already written this out. And sometimes there are scenes I've had planned that I do end up finding a way to shift around, but Carol spinning around to see the not dead Miss Evelyn staggering towards her and Miss Roberta was just so horrifyingly awful, it could NOT be tossed out the window! As much as I too grew to love the biddies (plus we had a long term gay couple with a complicated love story) I couldn't give them a happily ever after :( BUT, I am hopeful that after I finish this story, that maybe I can do an offshoot where I can turn the tide on the ZA, let some of Carol and Daryl's plans actually come together, and maybe save Blackburn. And the biddies :)_

 _Otherwise, again, thank you all for your continued support here!_


	17. Run, Run, Run

**Author's Note** : Yes, we're back. Finally. But first, it's a SHORT chapter! Not by general FF posting standards, but by what you're used to here, definitely. So please don't throw tomatoes at the end like, 'where the rest of it?!' This is it :) About 9k words without the notes. But I had to do a shorter one because I got so tripped up here that I honestly just needed to put a bow on it so I could mentally move beyond these particular scenes. As I explained on Tumblr, it was just the 'style' of this chapter that caused so many problems. It's very action oriented, and usually I like writing those, they come pretty easily, but in real life at the moment, I'm functioning on a major level of personal anxiety. And trying to write these scenes was just not 'soothing' to my already spastic brain. That's why I ended up moving back to "Cedar Forest" again. That update was a relaxing chapter to pull together. This one was like yanking a wisdom tooth. Twist, twist, twist…scream :)

But hopefully you'll all enjoy at least what we have! There is a character here named "Colette." Her picture is on my Tumblr post for this story. I cast her with Oluniké Adeliyi, aka "Leah" from Flashpoint. I know I'm pulling a lot of random people from a completely random show, but she worked perfectly for this character so I decided to give her some work :)

Direct continuation.

* * *

 _Wednesday Night_

 _Day 7_

 **Run, Run, Run**

Sophia was already screeching in terror as she spun around and went racing back down the hall and towards the kitchen. And Carol was trying desperately to follow after her, except MISS ROBERTA WOULDN'T MOVE HER ASS! She just kept sobbing, "EVELYN! OH MY GOD! YOU'RE ALIVE! YOU'RE ALIVE!"

Even with Carol crying and shoving her by inches, through the living room doorway and into that long empty, hall . . . she just kept pushing back. It was obvious that she couldn't see the danger in front of them, she just saw the woman that she'd spent almost four decades sharing a life with.

Not the crazed cannibal she'd become.

And there was no time for compassion or reasoning, not when they were about to die screaming! So after throwing one more horrified look over her shoulder . . . Miss Evelyn was less than five feet away now, almost to the end of the couch . . . Carol just swung her arm up, and slapped Miss Roberta as hard as she could, right across the face. Then she cried out.

"SHE'S INFECTED! WE HAVE TO _**RUN**_!"

Carol's heart was in her throat by then. And there was no way for her make the danger more clear, but Miss Roberta . . . now with a huge red welt on her face . . . just blinked and shook her head. It was like her brain had short circuited. Really, it was probably just shock. She'd been grieving someone who wasn't really dead. But either way . . . even though she DESPISED herself for having to do it(!) . . . Carol knew she had to let the other woman go.

Because she couldn't save Miss Roberta if she didn't want to be saved.

So Carol gave her one more hard, _desperate_ shove, this time not to move that poor woman forward . . . but simply to get her the HELL out of the way! But fortunately the entryway to the hall was wide enough that with just those few extra inches, Carol was able to slip around her then.

She was only able to run about three feet though, before she winced and spun back the other way. Because the guilt wouldn't let her go without one more try. Even if the clock had run out.

Miss Evelyn was closing in fast.

" _PLEASE_ COME WITH ME, MISS ROBERTA!" Carol sobbed with a pounding of her fist against her chest, "PLEASE! IF YOU STAY SHE'S GOING TO _**KILL**_ YOU!"

All the while she was pleading with that woman, Carol continued to hurriedly stumble backwards down the hall . . . but then suddenly she slipped in the water that her daughter had spilled. And she let out a yelp as she started to fall. That was when Miss Roberta finally did turn and make eye contact with her again. But she still didn't seem to understand. She just looked confused. And Miss Evelyn was almost on top of them then. She was RIGHT there and making those HORRIBLE sounds!

And Carol wasn't about to get torn apart!

So as she scrambled back to her feet, she let out one last heartbroken sob of, "I'm so sorry!" and then she turned, slipping in the water again . . . right before her foot came down on a chunk of the broken glass.

SHIT!

Carol let out another yelp, that time in pain, but still she kept moving, now hopping and limping along, using the wall for balance to keep the shard from going further into her foot.

Behind her she could hear Miss Roberta calling her girlfriend's name again . . . but that time it was soft and sad. And broken.

Then she shrieked.

And feeling her own fresh bolt of terror propelling her forward . . . a new shot of adrenaline had just surged through her system . . . Carol kept herself stumbling forward, slipping now not on water, but the blood dripping down onto the tile.

Finally she broke out into the kitchen.

Her eyes were darting everywhere, but there was no sign of her daughter . . . and the back door still had the chain on it. So Carol continued limping and hopping as fast as she could, while screaming her daughter's name.

"SOPHIA! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

And then she heard her daughter's muffled voice yelling back.

"HERE, MAMA!"

For a second Carol had no idea where "HERE" was, except that it was coming through one of the doors along the back hallway.

And then a little head poked out from their bedroom . . . and she could see the tears pouring down her girl's face.

"MAMA!" Sophia sobbed with a frantic wave of her hands, "COME ON!" And Carol let out another gasp of her own.

"BACK INSIDE!" She yelled with another stumble and hop, "I'M COMING!"

It wasn't at ALL the plan Daryl had told them to follow, but that plan had gone COMPLETELY to hell! Because in front of her she could hear her daughter's crying, and from behind her she could hear Miss Roberta's continued shrieking in agony.

Both sounds were breaking her heart.

Because Carol knew that what was happening to Miss Roberta, was just like what had happened to the people at the funeral home. And as she continued to desperately try and get to her daughter, both her heart and her expression, were twisted with grief and horror. That God would actually curse those WONDERFUL, kind, women, who had spent forty years loving one another, and doing nothing but His good works, with such a horrifically EVIL end! She let out another sob.

With one literally DEVOURING the other!

It was enough to make one stop believing in God all together. And all Carol wanted to do was to grab her daughter up out of the bedroom, and race out the front door of that house! But with her limping the way she was, she was terrified that Miss Evelyn . . . who was smack dab in the middle of the downstairs . . . would cut them off before they could escape through either door. After all crazy people usually moved pretty fast.

And she couldn't risk her daughter getting caught.

So instead, with her foot bleeding pretty badly by then . . . that glass had sliced right through the soft center of her sole . . . Carol dragged herself those last few feet down the hall and into the bedroom.

She slammed the door shut and hit the lights.

"Get to the window, Sophia!" She hissed even while she was turning back, fumbling to try and get the flimsy lock on the door to click, "undo the latch!"

The ONLY really great thing going for them in that moment, was how her girl had always obeyed immediately and without question. And tonight was no different. Because Sophia instantly bolted across the room, and scampered up onto the bed. And even while she heard her daughter grunting and clawing to turn that latch Daryl had last opened four days earlier, Carol's eyes were bouncing wildly around the darkened bedroom. She was trying to find something she could use to block the door.

But . . . her face fell . . . there was nothing!

They had no chairs in there, and the furniture was all too big and chunky to move (like the bed and bookcase), or too small to hold anyone back at all.

Basically just the lamp.

Still though, Carol knew there had to be something she could do. So she limped over and started scooping up the heaviest of the thick, hardcover books off the shelves.

She stumbled back and threw them down in a pile in front of the door.

Then she did that again and again. Dropping at least two dozen books, weighing probably close to thirty pounds in weight, down there on the floor like a door stop. She knew they wouldn't prevent Miss Evelyn from breaking through . . . Carol hurled her last pile . . . but it was enough to get the door jammed up a little, which would slow that woman down. And that's all she was trying to buy.

Time.

And once she had bought them another twenty or thirty seconds beyond the length of time it would take to bust that lock, Carol finally shot her eyes up and over to her daughter. Her little shoulder was jammed in under the half open window.

And she was desperately trying to push it the rest of the way up.

"Good job, baby," Carol sniffled, while stumbling over, "you're doing so good!" Then she put her knee down on the bed, and reached out to give that frame her own hard shove.

It cracked into the top of the window with the sound like a bullet.

Then Carol was clamoring over the bedcovers, and tearing up her fingernails, trying to catch the little plastic handles on either side of the window screen. She finally got the edges pinched, and the screen moved up high enough that she was able to knock her fist into the hard metal running along the bottom. It only took two hits.

Then the screen went flying out into the dark.

So Carol scrambled to get the rest of the way up onto the bed.

"Okay honey," her panicked, watery eyes locked back onto her daughter's nearly mirror ones, "your turn." Carol put her arms out, and slipped her palms together to make a step, "put your foot here, and I'll help you up to the frame, then I'll lower you down over the bushes."

For just a second, Sophia's expression twisted, and she looked over at her like she was crazy. But then there was another screech from out in the main part of the house . . . this one sounded closer than the last one . . . and that seemed to clear any doubts her daughter had about her mother's sanity, straight out of that little brain!

Because she let out a ragged, "okay, Mama," and up came her leg.

Her foot had barely touched her mother's palm, before Carol was springing her up, and Sophia's fingers were scrambling to grab hold of the painted wood. Then once she got herself halfway, with her head out into the yard, and her belly on the edge, Carol shifted around to use her shoulders, to boost her girl the rest of the way up.

Then with Sophia hunched over, straddling the frame with her bottom half in and half out, Carol got herself braced the best she could, which wasn't all that great . . . that glass in her foot was KILLING her(!) . . . so she could get her hands under her daughter's armpits.

"I'm going to lower you down honey," she whispered while leaning in to get her elbows on the frame, "and I need you to wiggle your butt to the edge, and then stretch out your legs, and flex your toes so you'll find the ground faster. The bushes are going to scratch on the way down, but just try and ignore it, okay?"

Really the damn bushes were the WHOLE freaking problem! Because otherwise it would just be a straight four foot drop to the ground. One that Sophia . . . at her age . . . probably could have made with a little help from her mother, and an easy jump and a roll. But the blackberry bushes were there running right under and past the window, going out almost the whole length of that side of the house. That was in both directions. And that was just the _length_!

The width took them a good three feet going out into the yard.

 _Much_ too far for Sophia to clear in any jump!

So when her girl sniffled out a, "ready, Mama," Carol let out a heavy, ragged breath . . . because this was going to be murder . . . and started leaning forward.

"Here we go," she let out on a broken whisper.

And Sophia started wriggling, and Carol took another deep breath, trying to prepare herself for the weight she was going to have to hold to get her daughter clear. And GOD in that moment did she wish Daryl was there them! Because he could have lifted her baby straight to the ground, no problem.

He carried her like she was a feather.

As it was, Carol was TERRIFIED that she was going to get her girl caught up in the prickles of the bushes! And that somehow Miss Evelyn would get to her before Sophia could get loose and run away. Her stomach twisted.

And her baby would be torn to pieces!

Oh God . . . she swallowed down a fresh sob trying to rise up . . . please keep her safe!

It was just then that Sophia began to whimper at the branches cutting into her legs, and Carol eyes snapped up, darting wildly out into the darkness. Because she was suddenly terrified that some _other_ crazy person was going to come running up and attack her!

And really, that _wasn't_ such a farfetched thought!

Because if Jack was infected today, and Miss Evelyn too . . . and with them living on the complete OPPOSITE ends of town(!) . . . the odds were _ASTRONOMICALLY_ high that there were more people out there who were sick!

And they could be VERY close by!

"Sophia," Carol whispered on sniffle, hating how her voice was carrying out into the darkness, "sweetie, I know it hurts, but please baby, please stay quiet as you can. We don't want anyone to hear us."

That's when her girl let out another faint moan, but Carol could see how now she was biting down on her lip, trying not to cry out. Which was what Carol was doing at that point too. Because with the way she had to lean over, her daughter's sixty-one pound weight was becoming a dead lift.

It felt like the muscles in her back were about to tear.

And then from behind her in the house, Carol heard more noises. Not the screams like before. And not even footsteps really. It was more like a dragging sound. Either way, there was _definitely_ somebody moving now out in the hallway! And that somebody HAD to be Miss Evelyn!

Then there was a bump against the door.

That was enough to finally push Carol's fear over the edge. So with that shot of adrenaline, and the last bit of strength she could muster, she ignored the screaming of her muscles . . . and hurled Sophia forward towards the lawn.

It was still too far to get her completely clear though.

Because her daughter fell into the far side of the bushes, and tumbled over onto the grass with a soft cry. There was enough illumination from the half full moon, and the streetlight out in front, for Carol to see that Sophia had landed with her cheek and one hand on the ground, and one of her legs tangled up behind her.

Her pajama pants were caught on the branches.

But thank God at her age she was still wiry and agile, because she was able to get her body twisted around, so she could snag the piece of cloth that was holding her up.

Then, faster than Carol could have imagined, she was rolling over and jumping to her feet.

She was scrubbing the dirt from her face.

"Oh baby," Carol hissed, "good girl!"

And with her daughter now clear, Carol was just starting to climb up onto the frame herself . . . which was not easy without being able to put any weight on her left foot . . . when she heard another noise. Not from the hall though. This one was coming from somewhere to the right.

Over towards the neighbor's yard.

It was a thud or a thump or something. But whatever it was, it was definitely _outside!_

Outside where Sophia now was!

Yes, it was possible that it was just a stray animal, but they weren't having that kind of luck these days! And as Carol suddenly flashed on how the neighbors' shades had been drawn since at least Sunday when they'd moved in, she realized that her fears weren't farfetched at all. So as her eyes shot back over to her daughter's, she knew in her gut that those closed blinds meant something terrible!

The neighbors were infected too!

"Go baby!" Carol jerked her chin to the left, toward the front of the house, "run!"

"But Mama," Sophia whimpered as her hands balled up into tight fists at her side, "Daryl said to stay _together_!"

But Carol came back that time with a violent shake of her head.

"I know sweetie," her voice wavered as she shot another look over her shoulder . . . the door had started rattling again, "but you can't wait for me," her wild eyes bounced back out into the darkness next door, "there are noises coming from the next yard now, so it's not safe here. So you go out front," she continued on, now rushing her words, "turn left the way we did towards the creamery. And then you run, run, run," her voice cracked, "just like Daryl taught us. He'll be coming anytime now, so you just watch for his truck and you wave him down. If you see ANYBODY else," she sniffled, "you hide. And then when it's safe you run again until you see him. He'll take care of you, but I'll be coming right behind you!"

The last words out of her were practically lost in a sob, because Carol didn't know how the HELL she was going to get out of that house! Not if there was another one of those crazy people next door!

She was trapped!

And it was clear that Sophia was thinking the same thing. Because the tears were pouring down her face then. And with her standing there in her torn pajamas, lit up only by the moonlight, with dirt on her face, and bloodied scratches on her arms and legs, she looked so painfully small and vulnerable. And then Carol heard another sound from outside.

That time it was definitely a growl.

So she blew a frantic kiss out to her daughter.

"I love you baby," she cried out, while waving her arms maniacally towards the street, "now go as fast as you can!"

Sophia shot a desperate look off into the dark behind her . . . and then with one last choked sob of her own . . . she took off running towards the street.

Even though it was the best chance Sophia had to stay alive, watching her go, Carol felt like her heart was being ripped out and torn away. But once she saw her baby disappearing into the peach trees out front, she knew Sophia was in God's hands then.

Really they both were.

Because as Carol sat there perched, half up on the window frame, with her legs dangling down onto the bed, she'd never been so scared in her life. Her heart was galloping in her chest, and her eyes were panicked and wild as they kept darting frantically back and forth between that faint growling sound she could hear next door . . . it seemed to be getting less faint by the second . . . and the steady rattling she could now hear of the doorknob behind her. And dear God, she didn't know WHAT TO DO! Because she had no phone, no knife . . . no weapons of any kind! She couldn't even _run!_

Hell, she could barely WALK!

So even if she managed to make it out the window and into the yard without maiming herself even worse, or (FANTASTICALLY!) busted her way through the bedroom door, knocked Miss Evelyn back, and got out into the hallway . . . she could only limp away. So basically . . . she bit down another hopeless sob . . . both exits were going to lead her into a horrible death! And all she could think of was Sophia. Her heart ached.

And Daryl.

And how she was praying that they would find each other. And that he would take care of her baby for her.

It was just then that something crashed into the wooden frame hard enough to bust that cheap lock, and knock the door open. It only went a few inches . . . but that's when Carol started screaming bloody murder again. Because even in the shadows she could see a slippered foot coming out, kicking at the books that were now the only thing keeping Carol from the woman who was going to try to eat her alive. And those extra few HORRIFYING, seconds(!) were just enough for her to make a decision. Staying inside was now a guaranteed death . . . outside she might still have half a chance. So before she completely lost that chance too, Carol let out a fresh howl of fear.

Then she dove through the window.

/*/*/*/*/

Daryl's brow wrinkled as he paused with one foot still on the cracked asphalt of the driveway, and the rest of him inside his truck. Because he'd thought he'd just heard something. Not the growlin' something . . . God knew he wouldn't have a foot outside of anywhere then . . . but something else.

Somethin' high pitched.

And then . . . he whipped his head around, his eyes flashing to the east . . . there! There it was again! It was something that he shoulda recognized the first time, but the sound had been faint. It was also something he just almost never heard there in town.

A siren.

But now . . . his breathing started to quicken as he heard another one, this time going north . . . that was two, going in two different directions. That was cause for some serious (additional) worry. Because Jolene had told him Wordy and Danny were down at the lake following Jack's trail, which was ten miles outta town. And Jolene was talking to him from back at the office.

That was three miles downtown goin' north.

So that was _three_ deputies accounted for elsewhere, than where those sirens seemed to be comin' from. And on a regular night, there shouldn't have been more than just those three deputies working at one time. Because the Blackburn Sheriff's Office only had six of 'em on _full_ time, usually working twelve hour shifts each.

That was clearly not the schedule tonight though.

Because Daryl had just heard a third siren echoing through the neighborhood . . . this one was VERY close by. Close enough for him to quickly yank his other leg up inside the truck. And then his brain began spinnin' out on the reality, that if there were that many cruisers on the road . . . responding to _active_ calls, by the sounds of it . . . the whole department had been called up. And as he slammed the door shut, all Daryl could think was that they all couldn't be out with lights and sirens just to clean up some horrible mess Jack coulda left.

Not spread all over town like that.

No . . . his head was shaking furiously as he fumbled to jam the key into the ignition . . . no way. Which meant that odds were pretty much dead on, that there'd already been more reported disturbances or attacks, outside of what he'd called in at the lake.

Blackburn was startin' to tilt.

God damn it . . . his stomach twisted . . . that meant he needed to get back to his girls, and right quick! Yeah, it had only been about twenty or so minutes since he'd left 'em . . . he'd opted to check the locks on the windows around his own house, so that had added a couple minutes to his trip . . . but still, that ball of panic was wellin' up in his gut. Daryl knew that ball was instinct.

And his instincts were hardly ever wrong.

Things in _general_ though were feeling wrong enough, that when he tore outta that driveway, it was with about the same degree of recklessness that he'd torn away from the lake. Though this time he couldn't be goin' freaking warp speed down the road. But that was because it was barely ten o'clock, and this was a small town where people felt safe walking out after dark. Granted now, given how it was a weekday, most people were already in for the night . . . but not everyone. Especially not anyone with a dog.

Which was about every third house around there.

And a lot of those folks would probably be doin' their last doggy walk right about then. He'd seen two of 'em out on his drive home. Which meant that no matter how much Daryl wanted to, there would be no _speedin'_ back to the biddies' house. No, just like the last leg of the lake journey, he needed to keep it well under thirty, unless he wanted to risk runnin' down one of his neighbors.

Not to mention their four legged friend.

It was hard though, going slow down the street, when all he wanted to do was be back with Carol and Sophia. The only thing that was actually keepin' him from _risking_ those high speeds through his small town neighborhood, was that he hadn't gotten a call from Carol. And he knew without a God damn doubt, if there'd been ANY kind of weird noises or knocks outside, or even just if the sirens had gone by down there on the biddies' street, that his girl woulda called him ASAP!

Just to tell him that something was up.

And it would be dumb . . . and a bit creepy . . . to call _her_ , when he was only about a four minutes away from just being there in person!

It was just then though, when he was rolling by Rockford Road . . . a cross street, leading off the main connectin' street he'd just turned onto . . . that Daryl caught a glimpse of swirly blue lights, and a person getting out of the cruiser they were attached to. From the distance . . . a half block down on his left . . . even though he knew all the cops in that town, he couldn't make who exactly that deputy was. It didn't help that the streetlights with bulbs in them were kinda spread out down there.

That was the town tryin' to save money.

This was the cruiser he'd heard a few seconds earlier. He was sure of it. And though he told himself to just mind his business and keep straight on goin' down that road to the biddies', Daryl couldn't help it . . . he slammed on the brakes, and backed the fuck up again. He just wanted (needed) to see what that cop was doin' out there all by him or herself.

And whether gettin' out down there alone, was a decision likely to get him or her killed.

But he could see that whoever had been driving the county vehicle with the shiny blue lights, was now walkin' along the street, with a big flashlight in hand. And then they turned and he could see what looked like the outline of one of their Remington shotguns too.

They'd already broke out the long guns.

"Ah fuck."

Daryl muttered the curse as he immediately reached for his own gun tucked into the back waistband of his belt. And then for about ten, fifteen seconds he sat there, with that Glock in his lap, and the engine purrin'. He was just watching out the closed driver's side window, while that deputy went up and down the driveways, and poked around in the bushes, looking for whatever he or she . . . there was one another lady cop besides Jolene, that was Colette LaPierre, from down outside Baton Rouge . . . was lookin' for.

Finally that cop got close enough though, that with the help of the streetlight, Daryl could make out the curve of some full breasts and dark skin wrapped up in that light brown uniform.

So it was Colette out there.

In days past, she and Merle had had more than a few scrapes around town. But that was because every time she pulled him over for drivin' like a drunk asshole, he called her something ugly enough to guarantee things would escalate beyond a ticket.

Still though, she and Daryl got along okay enough.

That was for her bein' a cop, and him always bein' the jackass walkin' in the station on Sunday mornin' to bail Merle's racist ass outta the drunk tank. But even if they hadn't gotten along okay, he didn't feel right at all, leaving her there alone if she was lookin' for what he thought she was lookin' for.

A crazy ass cannibal hidin' in the bushes.

Also though, a quick, slightly wild glance at his watch, showed him that a couple minutes had passed now since he'd left his place. He was still well under thirty since he'd left the yellow house, but he needed to get his ass moving in short order. 'Cuz he'd _promised_ Carol no detours.

And this sure as hell was shaping up as a detour!

Even still, before he made that move to leave, he rolled down the window.

The muggy night air immediately started rollin' in.

At that point, Colette was about two houses down from where he was stopped in the small intersection between his connectin' street, and the one she was on. And with the streetlight on the corner just ahead of him, she'd had to have seen his truck clear as day by now. Though granted, without any light on his face directly, he wasn't sure if she knew who it was there in the cab. So after doin' his own check eyeballin' for crazies in his own direct area . . . of which there seemed to be none at the moment . . . he leaned his head out the window, and called over.

Very softly.

"Colette, it's Daryl. Everything okay?"

The words carried in the dead air. Enough so that she immediately stopped what she was doin'. Then she seemed to stare down at him for a second, right before she shook her head . . . and started joggin' in his direction.

Which was about the point where Daryl remembered he had a shotgun up on the rack behind his head, and a loaded Glock out in his lap. And carry permit or not, there wasn't a cop on the damn planet that wanted to be surprised on a dark street, by an ex-con carryin' a gun. Especially when the cop was black, and the ex-con was a redneck hillybilly, such as himself.

That was a situation just askin' for a misunderstanding!

So once Colette was close enough for him to see her face . . . it was a young and pretty face, he had about ten years over her . . . Daryl put his hands up on the edge of the window, and added on the same low tone.

"So you know, got the thirty ought behind me and the Glock's in my lap. Safety's on though."

And he saw her nod, right before she threw the strap of the Remington up over her shoulder. Then she immediately moved to pull her service weapon out instead.

Though he didn't take that personal.

He just figured she was keepin' the weapon in her hand, that she felt was best to use if she had to use it. And now with her face comin' up in the gapin' hole of his open truck window, clearly a handgun was better than a shotgun if she had to spin around quick.

Then she was flashin' that oversized Mag Light through the window and into the cab . . . the beam bounced off the duffel on the floor, the bow on the seat, and the metal glint in his lap . . . right before she nodded again and directed the light out to the dark corners of the empty intersection. Her eyes were bouncin' right along with that beam of light.

She definitely wasn't lettin' her guard down.

Good on her.

"I heard Jolene tellin' you to get your guns," Colette let out on a small puff, while she was staring off to the house on the corner . . . the Carter place. Then her eyes snapped back to his and she added softly, "sorry about Jack. I know you all were old friends. Jolene's pretty torn up."

Feeling that ache of grief come back to his chest, the ache that he'd managed to push off for just a bit while he'd kept himself packin' up his things, Daryl just gave a back grunt and a nod, before he cleared his throat.

"So you know about him gettin' infected?"

And her brow darkened as she gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah," she looked over her shoulder again, "after your first call to Jolene about the growling, before the guys even got out there to the lake, all the rest of us got called back in, just in case." Her attention bounced back to him, before she added with a twitch of her jaw. "We were hoping you were wrong."

"Yeah," he grunted again, "I was hopin' I was wrong too. But uh," he jerked his head down towards the street behind her, "what's goin' on here? You get another report on growlin'?"

God was he hopin' so bad that she was gonna say no . . . he actually winced when she said yes. Then she nodded and bit her lip.

"We've got a few calls about strange animal type noises," she continued quietly, "and we're taking them all seriously, but," she set the end of the Mag light on his window, "we're really hoping people are just on edge and being overly cautious."

"So everyone's hearin' weird noises and just bein' _overly_ cautious all at once, huh?" Daryl responded slowly, with clear tension in his voice. And he saw Colette's jaw tighten . . . though she didn't say nothin' back. Not that he was tryin' to be an asshole. He was just pointin' out the obvious. Shit was going wrong in Blackburn.

If that made him an asshole, so be it.

Not that he wanted to push that point, he just wanted to get back to his girls before he got caught up in anything more dangerous than a simple conversation. But first . . . he bit down a sigh . . . he just had to make sure Colette was all done here, so he could move on down the road with a clear conscience. So he tipped his head.

"If you ain't done checking the street," he said quietly, "I can stick around here 'til you are. I mean," he shrugged, "if you want somebody keepin' an eye out 'til you're done. If you do, I just gotta call my girlfriend quick, and tell her I'll be a few minutes."

Yeah, this quick stop was _definitely_ rollin' into a possible delay. One that was puttin' his word (the one he'd given to Carol) to the test. But he knew his girl would understand him not wantin' to leave a deputy out here all alone, beatin' the bushes for one of those crazy people. Somebody could get a nose torn off that way.

He'd seen it happen.

That offer to stay though, comin' outta _his_ mouth . . . the ex-con with the dipshit white power brother . . . seemed to surprise Colette quite a bit. Because he saw her eyes widen, right before her expression softened. Then she tapped his arm with the tip of the flashlight.

"That's good of you Daryl," she answered softly, "but I'll be all right," then her eyes crinkled ever so slightly, "semper fi, you know?"

"Yeah," he nodded that he remembered she'd done six years in the Marines, two of them off huntin' terrorists somewhere in Africa, "I know, and so _you_ know, it ain't a lady thing with me making the offer. It's just," he shook his head, "I've seen these things go down, and due respect," he gave her a hard look, "it ain't like any combat you've been in before. I saw a SWAT team run in a building, and a cop still come out missing two hands and most of the muscles in her arm. And God knows I just wanna get the fuck outta here, but," his lips pressed together, "it don't really sit right just leavin' ya alone knowing what I know, about what you're lookin' for."

That time when he finished talking, he could see her actually thinkin' about his words . . . her brow had wrinkled up a bit . . . but then again, she shook her head.

"No," she took a deep breath, "it's okay. This is my second call, and I haven't found anything strange so far. So I'm just gonna walk the street one more time, and if there's still nothing, head back to the station. But if I do find a problem," she let out a heavy sigh as she raised the Glock up, "two bullets to the head should clear it up."

For a second Daryl just stared back at her, and then he gave a slow nod.

"All right," his jaw twitched as his eyes briefly shifted over her shoulder . . . to the dark shadows behind the buzzing sodium light, "if you're sure you're good," his attention snapped back to her, "then I'll be on my way."

And so she took a step back, and he shifted from P to D.

Just before he moved his boot off the brake and onto the gas, he let out a faint grumble.

"Be safe."

Then he took off down the road.

Still though, he couldn't stop himself from looking in the rearview mirror. And seeing that lady cop standin' there alone in the middle of that badly lit intersection, with her flashlight up and her Glock down . . . he just had a real bad feelin'. Like she was gonna run into trouble sooner than later. Really just the one thing going for her by _his_ estimation, was that the Marines taught their people to shoot better than anyone else.

They prided themselves on that shit.

So as his full attention shifted away from the mirror, and back out the front windshield, Daryl knew if Colette did run into one of those crazies that needed puttin' down, she could likely do it better than anyone else on that department.

And without wastin' a bullet neither.

Shootin' skills like that, they were an admirable quality in a woman . . . they were a sellin' point for him really . . . and with his foot down on the gas, and his focus once more now (rightly) just on gettin' back to his girls, Daryl was thinking it might be good to give Carol some trainin' with both the shotgun, and the nine millimeter. Of course he'd picked up earlier on how she had some reservations with handlin' guns . . . God only knew her shitstain husband probably had tortured her with his more than once . . . but that was probably somethin' they were just gonna need to work through.

Like the cell phone thing.

And that was something they got past without too much trauma for her. The thing was . . . he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel . . . he just needed to phrase it right. Point out how the biddies' had a big house, and there was gonna be five of them in there, so better to have at least two of them capable of pullin' a trigger if need be. And he already knew the biddies were not 'pro-gun' folk. And he knew that for sure, because from time to time over the years, they'd stood out in front of the Piggly Wiggly, or down in the center of town, and had passed out those leaflets on new laws being introduced relatin' to 'responsible gun ownership.'

They'd probably taken more flak for that, than they ever did for bein' gay.

Personally, Daryl was pretty neutral on that one. Yeah, he liked guns, and he liked to shoot, but he'd also met many a mean spirited son of a bitch asshole, who had about as much business carryin' a firearm as Sophia did. Course those kinds of assholes would carry whether it was legal for them to do so or not. So by his thoughts, tryin' to keep guns outta _those_ people's hands . . . the ones who REALLY shouldn't be carrying 'em . . . was pretty much a losin' battle. But still, he understood how most everyone had their little causes. Like his, was people litterin' in the forest. Every summer he'd get in some out of town camper's face about dropping their garbage on the ground. And a couple years back, he'd even goose marched a group of hungover frat boys around their campsite, pickin' up their empties under threat of putting both his boot, and a load of buckshot, up their asses. And so he respected that for some, gun control was their thing. Those people needed to keep fightin' that fight.

He respected that.

It was just then, when he was just about to pass by Horseshoe Lane, about three blocks shy of the turn down to the biddie's house on Lindy, when something caught Daryl's eye.

And that something was runnin' into the bushes.

It was a little person. Definitely under five foot. The flash had been quick, but his impression was clear that it was a little girl.

One who at present, was tryin' to hide behind the Zowicki's early bloomin' azaleas.

And even though it was just a glimpse he'd caught in his headlights before she'd disappeared into those pink blossoms, God DAMN . . . Daryl's stomach started to twist . . . if it hadn't looked like Sophia! There was no way in creation though that little girl could be out on the streets.

And sure as hell not out all by herself.

And he kept telling himself that over and over, as he slammed down on the brakes, turned to look over his shoulder . . . and started slowly backin' up again. Yeah, this was definitely turnin' into another maybe detour, but there was no doubt in his mind that was a child back there. And even though there was no way it was (or could be) Sophia, he couldn't just leave a little one out in the street, in the dark. Not any day, but no way in hell, today. Still, he was glad he had the Glock handy too.

Just in case that child wasn't quite herself anymore.

That was a thought though, that he wouldn't let himself dwell on for even a second. The idea of maybe havin' to shoot a little kid. 'Cuz there was just no way he was gonna do that. If there was something wrong with her, he'd see it (or hear it) fast enough, and then he'd just hightail it back to the truck, and call nine-one-one.

That's what they were there for.

So with that plan in his head, he brought the Ford to a full stop. And for a second he just sat there, with the window down and the engine idlin', listening for that noise he did not wanna hear.

And he didn't hear it.

There was no growlin', that was for sure. But what he heard instead, was breakin' his heart. Because it was some quiet little sobbin'.

Whoever that girl was, she was terrified.

And knowin' full well all of the GOOD reasons these days, to be terrified out in the world, Daryl gave a quick look around through the front and side windows, just to make sure everything seemed to be all clear.

Then he finally reached for the door handle, and slowly shifted his weight around, until he'd slid out and stepped onto the street. Again though, he stopped to take a good listen to his surroundings before he spoke. And what he heard was the engine, the cicadas, the faint sirens in the distance, and the quiet sobbin' up close.

All normal.

So he opened his mouth.

"Hey, little girl," he called out softly, his trigger finger tappin' against the Glock's safety as he took a few hesitant steps towards the azalea bushes directly across the street, "are you okay there?"

There was more crying at that, and then a rustlin' of those shrubs, right before a little face popped out.

"Daryl?!" The girl called back, half disbelieving question, half sob. And his heart nearly stopped. Because it _WAS_ Sophia! Out in the dark . . . by herself.

OH JESUS CHRIST!

And then he was running flat out, shoving the gun into his waistband, as he yelled back, "darlin! What in the HELL are you doing out here?! WHERE is your mama?!"

Both questions were spit out in a near full panic, rapid fire. But before he'd shot even half those words from his mouth, Sophia had come out flying from behind the bushes. By then he had the gun tucked away, so he opened his arms, and caught her runnin' at him at just about the gutter on her side of the street.

The tears were pouring down that sweet, heartbroken, face as he yanked her up off the ground, and clutched her to his chest. And she was shakin' so much and cryin' so hard, he knew she wasn't capable of talking then. So he just cuddled her up tight, and tried desperately to push down enough of his own panic to get her to calm down.

Even though inside he was DYIN' not knowing where Carol was!

"It's okay darlin'," he soothed over and over as he ran his hand up and down her back, "it's okay, I'm right here. And you're safe now. But Sophia," he tipped his head back, his wild eyes locking onto her tear and terror filled ones, "please baby girl," his voice cracked, "you gotta tell me what's going on! And where your mama is! 'Cuz I'm scared outta my mind right now that you're out here alone!"

A fresh sob came out of her at that, but then she sucked in a deep, raggedy breath, before gasping out, "Mama's stuck in the house!"

Those five words made no sense to Daryl, but givin' how Sophia started a fresh batch of sobs after she said 'em, they definitely chilled his blood. And though it wasn't near enough a complete picture of what was going on . . . how Carol could be ' _stuck_ ,' and why would Sophia EVER leave the house on her own(!?) . . . they _were_ enough for him to start runnin' them back to the truck, to get them movin' back to the God damn house!

Because _THAT_ was the place he needed to be!

But once he had them back to the open door, and Sophia slidin' across the bench seat . . . which was not an easy task, given how she was clingin' to him with a full death grip . . . he finally tried asking her the questions that still hadn't answered. With her just starting to get her sobbin' under control though, he tried to keep his tone calm as possible, before he sent her into another panic attack.

Then he wouldn't get anything clear out of her.

"Okay darlin'," he let out on a tight breath as he jumped up onto the seat and slammed the door, "so Mama's in the house. But why aren't you there with her?" Then a horrible thought came to him and he froze with his hand there on the ignition.

His eyes snapped back to Sophia's

"Did somebody break _into_ the house?!" He hissed. "One of the crazy people?!"

And in the glow of the dashlights he could see Sophia givin' a violent shake of her head, as she sucked in another raggedy breath. "No!" Her voice broke, "it was Miss Evelyn! She's the one that went CRAZY! She was growling! And Mama made me run!"

Feeling all the blood drain out of his face as a slight buzzing started in his ears, Daryl reached over to cup Sophia's jaw.

" _Miss Evelyn_ went crazy?" he whispered back in disbelief. And when Sophia sniffled out an, "uh, huh, she almost got Mama and Miss Roberta, she was right behind them. But Mama got away and found me in the bedroom," her voice broke again, "but I don't know where Miss Roberta went!"

"Okay," he blinked, and patted her cheek, his breath now coming in sharp, pants, "okay, darlin, okay we're gonna find your mama and Miss Roberta," he swallowed as his hand fell from her cheek, "it'll be okay. Just, here," he reached over and grabbed the middle strap, hastily yanking it around her waist, "we're gonna put on your seatbelt now."

He said the last while he was clicking the belt into the big metal lock. And now that he was sure that girl wasn't gonna go flyin' through the windshield, Daryl turned back around . . . and slammed his foot down on the gas.

They tore off down the road.

They were maybe a two to three minute drive from the yellow house, and he was sure as SHIT planning on makin' a land speed record on getting there! At the same time though he was trying to keep an eye out for Carol possibly running down the street after her daughter. Though hearing Sophia sniffling and hiccupping, curled up against his side, as she told him the rest of that terrible story about Carol getting' caught up on the bedroom window, made his gut hurt. Especially when she told him about the noises comin' from the yard next door. And how Carol had made her girl run again.

To run and find him.

His heart broke at that. Because the way Sophia was tellin' it, he didn't know how the hell her mama woulda gotten out of there. Not if Miss Evelyn was out in the hall, and that other crazy person was coming up to the house from the side. And that's all it coulda been out there for Carol to risk sendin' Sophia off alone . . . another crazy person next door. If that was true though, it meant that shit musta gotten into the WATER or something! Otherwise how else could so many people start getting sick so fast!?

There had to be a SOURCE!

His gut was churning by then. Not only from thinking about what was happening to his town . . . how many people could be sick or dead by mornin' . . . but mostly it was fed from his terror over what coulda happened to Carol since Sophia left. Even that terror though, was nearly overshadowed by another emotion.

A cripplin' sense of guilt.

Good GOD in heaven, he'd _left_ her and Sophia locked inside the house with someone who'd tried to KILL them! And even though there was just no WAY he coulda known that was gonna happen . . . all the woman had had was a fucking HEADACHE for Christ's sake(!) . . . it just still seemed like he'd failed them somehow. 'Cuz he'd promised to keep them safe . . . his eyes started burning . . . and now Carol might already be dead!

The images from the attacks in Atlanta suddenly started flooding his brain then . . . and he had to shove them away. Because he couldn't picture his girl dying like that.

He'd go crazy himself if he did!

And it was just when he was about to whip around the final turn, the one onto the biddies' street . . . that he caught a flash of somebody in the headlights. They were stumbling down the middle of the road, a few houses ahead.

IT WAS CAROL!

"DARYL!"

Sophia's scream came right when Daryl was slamming on his brakes.

"I SEE HER DARLIN'!" He started to yell, "I SEE . . ."

But then his voice faded as his eyes popped. Because he'd just spotted somebody else comin' into his headlights. It was Mr. McGreavy. That was the biddies' next door neighbor. He was about ten paces back from his girl.

And there was DEFINITELY something wrong with his face!

Daryl was scrambling to get the door open even as he heard Sophia's fresh screams from beside him . . . because Carol had just tripped. And then the metal was swinging back, and he was jumping out . . . and the Glock was coming up. And he was screaming.

"CAROL! STAY DOWN!"

He fired.

* * *

 _A/N 2: From your notes last time, I thought it was so interesting how many people thought Daryl would come back to the house and save the day :) Because I of course already knew that he would NOT be riding up on a white horse and busting through the front door of the biddie's to blow Walker Miss Evelyn's brains out before anyone got hurt. It was always going to be Carol and Sophia having to get themselves out of there. Which is why again, (I've mentioned this before) I just love to hear what YOU all, think is going to happen next :)_

 _I also felt badly about having to kill off both of my lesbian ladies. It was especially bad timing if you know there's a big conversation now about how "the gay ladies" never get the happily ever after! Really, NOBODY is getting one here, but timing wise, it felt awkward that their deaths were happening at this point. But these ladies were doomed to die before I had even decided to make them a couple. At first, when I was sketching notes, I'd been debating about making them nuns who ran their programs out of a church in Blackburn. Which would have been perfect if they where anywhere but freaking APPALACHIA! Because that was way too much of the Yankee in me thinking I could drop a Catholic church in a pint sized Appalachian town that could ONLY be chock full of Baptists! :) That's when I scrapped the whole nun idea and went with them being a couple instead. Which I liked much better, and I think made them richer characters, but it made me sadder about this ending for them. But I felt like (for this fictional reality) that's how it went in the beginning, and that's why the world went so quickly once it tipped. Because the walkers that were getting you, were the people that you loved, which made it all the more awful. If you didn't understand in these early days how the flu was the catalyst, or the 'coming back from the dead' thing, you'd be locking yourself in close quarters with the people who were going to kill you. And for that to be "emotionally impactful" here, we needed to be attached to a nice family that ended up destroying each other. The biddies fell on that sword :(_

 _And if you remember, the groundwork for the neighbors being infected too was laid down back when Carol and Sophia moved into that room. When he was fixing the window, Daryl made a note to himself how all the blinds were drawn on the house next door. So that was in the works because those timeframes from incubation to flu to death to turning, have some flexibility on them But because there are 'windows' for things, I thought it worked that people in town who had been infected by Theresa at church, could suddenly turn around the same time. Just like the people on the outskirts, had been turning faster from the bites, but nobody realized because nobody had run into them yet who had 'lived to spread the word.'_

 _Next time we will finally get that Jolene time. That's the section (plus some other scenes) that I didn't try to finish for this, because I just wanted to get the chapter done and the drag would've been forever to get all that folded in given the delays we've already had. So anyway, hope you weren't disappointed :)_

 _And thanks as always!_


	18. The Black Horizon

**Author's Note** : We're back! _*confetti* *horns* *disappointed grumblings of "about damn time"_ * :)

Yes, yes, it IS about damn time! But as I posted on my tumblr a couple weeks back, real life has put a new crimp in writing life. So updates everywhere have slowed. All the TWD stories are definitely still active (if you were wondering, and I know some of you were :)), I just don't have the same schedule to write that I did before. So fair warning, this story in particular might be down to a once a month update. But because of that unfortunate development, I did try make this update SUPER long! We hit a new record at 24k!

And there is a line in here that might sound familiar, and it's because I stole it (sort of) from a writer much better than myself :) I'll explain at the end.

Also, FYI, Jolene has a unique nickname for Daryl that will not be explained until later in the chapter. Just mentioning it now, so that when you read it in the middle of a sentence, you won't just think I lost my mind and did a Find/Replace of "Daryl," with some other random word :)

Now, picking up exactly where we left off.

* * *

" _And I will let the dead leave, and let the dead roam the earth . . . and they shall eat the living."_

 _\- The Epic of Gilgamesh_

* * *

 _Wednesday Night - Thursday Morning_

 _Day 6-7_

 **The Black Horizon**

Three nine millimeter bullets went straight, dead center, into Gary McGreavy's sixty something year old chest. Daryl knew this, because in the sharp glare of the Ford's headlights, he saw those bullets go in. But when they did, he saw that old man's white t-shirt suddenly start turnin' a strange shade of dark brown.

Not red like it shoulda.

It was enough to cause a stutter in Daryl's brain . . . but it was one that he ruthlessly shoved away. Because there were more important worries at the moment than the color of that man's blood.

Like why the FUCK he was still standin'!

Because those shots grouped the way they were, shoulda blown into him like a fuckin' CANNONBALL! But all McGreavy did was stumble back a step . . . he didn't fall though.

So Daryl took off running.

He was still firin' bullet after bullet, straight into that man's center mass as he raced down to grab up Carol, who was still a good twenty paces off with her face in the ground.

From behind him he could hear Sophia sobbing in the truck.

And it was near impossible for Dary to believe, but he'd almost run outta bullets . . . all FIFTEEN of 'em(!) . . . before he'd even reached that girl's mama. So with only two of those nine millimeters left in the chamber, he stopped short five paces out from where Carol was laying in the street. That was ten paces out from where McGreavy's bullet riddled person . . . there were pieces of his flesh spit out all over the asphalt . . . was still staggerin' forward.

And he just would not STOP! So Daryl fired those final shots, standin' completely still, with perfect aim.

They went straight in between those two bushy grey eyebrows.

A millisecond later, chunks of bone and brain blew outta the back of that head. It was a horrifyin' thing to see. Even worse still, it was a horrifyin' thing to have DONE!

Because Daryl had never killed nobody before.

But hell, even that initial recoil of horror and guilt at what he'd had to do, were immediately pushed back by a burst of joy in his chest. Because finally . . . praise fucking Jeezus Christ HIMSELF(!) . . . that bastard _dropped_! And Daryl was also thankin' JC that McGreavy didn't fall towards Carol, but instead he went backwards into that mess of gore behind him.

He hit the pavement with a thud.

At that point, all around him, Daryl could hear the sounds of dogs barking, and see the porch lights and house lights, coming on up and down the whole street. But he ignored all that. He even ignored how he desperately needed to reload the Glock, to instead just run up those last ten feet and scoop Carol up off the ground before McGreavy started movin' again. Fuck yeah, he shoulda been right and truly DEAD by then, but he also shoulda been right and truly dead about THIRTEEN bullets earlier!

Daryl wasn't counting that SOB out, until he saw him drawn and quartered in the street!

And he was so busy just trying to get Carol away from him, and out of danger, that it wasn't until he actually had her up in his arms and had started to run the two of them back to the truck, that he saw she was bleedin'.

And he nearly had a God damn heart attack.

"Oh my God sweetheart!" He gasped in absolute HORROR at the blood smeared all over her foot, "did I _hit_ you?!" But she immediately sniffled and shook her head.

"No, no," she choked out as her fingertips dug into his back and her wild eyes shot over his shoulder, to the body lying on the ground, "it's from the glass stuck in there that I stepped on trying to get out of the house! It wasn't you!"

And now with the most immediate dangers neutralized with Miss Evelyn still somewhere in the house, and with that crazy man's brains now splattered into the street . . . he had to finally be dead, thank God(!) . . . Carol's focus suddenly snapped onto the next most urgent priority.

Finding her daughter.

So she continued on, now half on a sob.

"Oh, hon," she hissed out while frantically smacking Daryl's shoulder, "we have to find Sophia! I had to send . . ."

But that's when he cut her off.

"No, no, sweetheart, it's okay," Daryl panted out as they ran up on the truck, "I got her right here inside."

"Oh, thank God you got her!" Carol sobbed as she saw her girl through the glass, "I felt sick sending her off, but it was the only way to save her from that crazy man!"

"Yeah, I know," Daryl let out on ragged breath as he paused for a second by his open door, "Sophia told me what happened at the house with the biddies, and then you gettin' stuck after she got out. That's why I came flying up the way I did."

And then, even though they had to get off the street . . . God only knew what else could be coming for them. . . still he paused for just one more second to give Carol a hard, _desperate_ , squeeze.

"You did so great sweetheart," he whispered in her ear, right before his voice cracked, "I'm just sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

And before the stunned Carol could say anything back to that . . . like sputter out how RIDICULOUS it was that Daryl could be feeling any kind of guilt when he'd _already_ found her lost daughter, right before he'd LITERALLY saved her from a raving CANNIBAL(!) . . . Daryl had already turned, and was sliding her in onto the bench seat.

Which was when all of those other thoughts were pushed out of Carol's mind.

Because there was her baby girl, sobbing out, "Mama!" as she fumbled over to grab her hand. And with Daryl already jumping up behind her, giving her a little push along the seat, Carol shifted herself over the last two inches, to pull Sophia into her arms.

"Oh baby," she cried out as Daryl slammed the door shut, "I'm so happy to SEE you!" Then she tipped her head back to give her girl a watery smile, "and you did so good finding Daryl, like I said!"

"He found me, Mama," Sophia sniffled back as she looked up with a bit of a bashful shake of her head, "I was hiding in the bushes."

Before Carol could respond to that, she felt Daryl's fingers run down her arm, right before he leaned past her to snatch up his duffel from the floor.

He dropped it into his lap.

"Need to reload," he murmured by way of an explanation, while he hastily yanked one of the zippered compartments open, and began to pull out two loose cartridges from the side pouch. The first one he switched out for the now empty one in the Glock, and the other one he jammed into his pants pocket. And while he was in the middle of doing that, he shot Carol a quick, harried, look.

"Seatbelts sweetheart," he murmured tightly, "gotta go real fast again."

"Oh, right, right," she muttered back, blinking away her tears as she shifted around to get her still sniffling daughter belted in again. And while she was reaching over to do that, Carol suddenly felt her own belt . . . the middle one . . . being pulled around her waist.

Daryl had her latched in before she'd even finished with Sophia.

But the second that Sophia's lock clicked, (two seconds after hers did), he had them peeling out backwards just like they had at the lake.

At least that time they weren't driving on dirt.

And then there was another spin, and a squeal of the tires . . . literally rubber marks were being left on the road just to get them around the corner . . . then he floored it.

So with Sophia tucked up with her face pressed into Carol's breast on her right side, Carol reached over to put her left hand down on Daryl's thigh. Of course what she wanted to do was to hold his _hand_ , but she knew that he needed both of them for driving. At least while he was driving the speed he was at the present moment.

Which was about fifty miles per hour, in a posted twenty-five mile per hour zone.

And as they took another turn, down another street, still going much, MUCH too fast, she gave his knee a light squeeze.

"Where are we going, hon?" She let out on a heavy breath, as she got the last of her mostly stress-induced, tears, under control.

"Sheriff's station," Daryl answered softly, while throwing another look in the rearview mirror, "I need to turn myself in now, before one of those dozen or so people who were peekin' through the curtains, do it for me."

"Oh God," Carol sucked in a new breath, as a fresh bolt of fear went through her, "do you think they might really arrest you for shooting that man?! I mean," her frantic gaze darted over to his profile, "could they do that even though you only shot him to save me?!"

Hearing the panic coming into Carol's voice, Daryl quickly shook his head.

"It'll be okay sweetheart," he soothed back, "I promise. They won't arrest me. Because there's no way that Jolene would tell me to get my guns for protection, and then immediately lock me up for using 'em. That's not how she operates. But like I said, I gotta at least turn myself in and explain what happened."

Then he dropped his hand fall off the steering wheel, and down to where Carol's was already settled on his thigh.

He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"I know you're still scared," he continued with a heavy sigh, "I am too, believe me. But we just gotta do this thing, and I can have my talk with Jolene, and she can tell me whatever the hell it is that she knows that she said _I_ need to know, and then we'll go back to my house and lock the doors. But absolute _worst_ case," Daryl shot Carol a quick side eye . . . she was staring up at him, "if Jolie says I have to stay at the station for awhile while she writes up a report or something, I'll just call in an old marker I got with the department, to make sure they let you two stay with me. I know it wouldn't be ideal having Sophia hanging out at the jail, but at least you guys'd be safe. And bottom line," his voice hardened, "I ain't lettin' you two outta my sight again tonight."

Feeling an ache in her chest at what was clearly Daryl's misplaced guilt rising up again, Carol was just about to say something to him about it, when suddenly he let out a curse as he yanked his hand away from hers.

"Oh Jesus Christ," he ground out, while fumbling to reach into his front pants pocket, "I'm so frigging stupid! I almost forgot about Miss Evelyn still being loose!" He yanked his phone out and shoved it into Carol's hand. "So we need to call Jolene _now_ and tell her to get somebody out there before that woman attacks somebody else!"

That was all he'd need for his damn conscience! Once of those 'good Samaritan' neighbors who'd been flipping on their porch lights, to go and check on what was happenin' out in front of the biddies' house.

Then Miss Evelyn CHOWS down on 'em like it's the Olde Country Buffet!

"Oh my God!" Carol was hissing back in horror as she scrambled to pull up the Last Call list on Daryl's phone, "I didn't even THINK of her getting out of the house! I was only thinking about getting away!"

Which, given her state of abject terror when she threw herself out the window, was probably an understandable lapse in her brain.

She was just praying to God that lapse wouldn't cost anybody else their life.

It was just then that Carol found the number she wanted, so she frantically smacked her finger down on the screen. Then she pulled the phone up to her ear.

A split second later she pushed it back towards Daryl.

"It's ringing now."

"No, no," he jerked his head, "hit the speaker. We're driving too fast for me to mess with it."

"Right, right," Carol swallowed and hit the speaker button just as a woman's voice came through the line.

"Dilly?"

There was definite stress on that word.

"Yeah it's me, Jolie," Daryl started talking loud and fast, "listen, you gotta get somebody out to Lindy Street ASAP. It's all fucked over there. Miss Evelyn's infected, she already got Miss Roberta, and the last time my girlfriend saw her, she was still loose in the house, but she could be outside by now."

"Oh Christ Jesus, Dilly," Jolene spit back, "hold on a second and I'll put it on the air!"

"No, no!" Daryl cut in with a smack of his hand on the steering wheel, "wait Jolie, don't go yet! There's one more thing. The neighbor there, Gary McGreavy, he's laying in the street. I put a whole clip into him, so I'm pretty sure he's dead now, but there was no doubt he was infected too. He was going after my girl, and he didn't go down until I got the two bullets in his head."

That time Daryl heard a sharp hiss from Jolene, right before she came back yelling, "did either of you get bit before you got him?!"

"No, no," his brow darkened and he quickly shook his head even though Jolene couldn't see him, "no bites. He never got close enough to either of us, and we're coming to you now. I'm going like fifty here, so we're maybe three minutes out."

"All right," Jolene let out a huff, "good, then we can talk. But I gotta get this call out right now Dilly, in case Miss Evelyn did get out. So I'll see you in a bit."

Then there was a click . . . and she was gone.

Once she heard the dial tone coming through the speaker, Carol pressed the red button and brought the phone down to her knee.

She clutched it in her palm.

"She didn't even seem to care at all when you said that you'd killed him," she murmured, in a slightly confused tone, "it was like it didn't matter."

"Yeah, well," Daryl's jaw twitched, "Jolene _knows_ me. And she knows I wouldn't of killed him, if I'd had the choice to do something else."

Picking up from Daryl's slightly defensive tone, that he'd totally misinterpreted what she was saying, Carol reached over to rub his arm.

"Of course that was the only choice, hon," she whispered, "you saved my life. And I didn't mean for what I said to imply anything else. I just," she bit her lip, "well, I thought it was odd how your friend, who is a _police_ officer, just didn't seem to care that you'd had to kill a man in the middle of the street. I mean all she asked was . . ."

And then Carol stopped.

" _What?"_ Daryl immediately shot back with bit more edge in his tone, "if you got something on your mind Carol, I'd appreciate it if you'd just spit it out!"

"No," she took a breath, "no, I don't." Her brow furrowed, "I mean, not really. I just was thinking it was funny how Jolene didn't ask if we were okay, or if we'd gotten hurt . . . all she asked was if we'd gotten bitten." Carol's brow wrinkled as she shot him a look. "Isn't that kind of a strange question? I mean even given all the strangeness going on?"

It seemed strange to her, but she didn't really know what it could mean, except that her brain was bumping on it like it was important somehow. And she could tell from the way that Daryl was now chewing on his lip, that he was maybe thinking it might be important too.

Then after a few seconds he shook his head.

"I don't know why she did that, but you're right," his brow knitted together, "it is kind of funny. And if she doesn't explain, I'll ask her about it when we get there."

And then he paused for a second, before he took his right hand off the steering wheel, and dropped it down onto Carol's leg.

"And I'm sorry for snappin,' at you, sweetheart," he continued on with a murmur while he brushed his thumb along her thigh, "it's just the stress, but it don't make it right."

Carol bit her lip.

"Thank you for apologizing," she whispered back, "but I wasn't taking it personally. Because it's clearly not the time to be sensitive about things like that."

It really wasn't, but it did say something for _his_ character that he'd still think to say sorry for being short with her, even when there were so many bigger things to be worrying about right then. And she was about to cover over his hand with hers . . . but that's when he pulled his hand away and put it on the steering wheel again.

At first Carol thought he was just countering her move . . . which seemed weird . . . but then she realized that they were coming up on another turn. And she knew that they _had_ to be taking the turn, because the road they were on was about to end in a cross street. On the other side of it there was a big, brightly lit, parking lot.

And then what appeared to be probably a school directly behind it.

"That's the high school," Daryl murmured, almost like he could hear her thoughts, even as he did a double tap of the breaks coming up on the turn . . . which slowed them just enough not to skid out, "we're comin' up on downtown now." He started rapidly spinning the wheel to the left, "sheriff's office ain't far."

So Carol watched as the view out the window rapidly shifted from the trees and houses that they'd been passing since Daryl had grabbed her up, to moderately sized shops on one side of the street, and oversized brick municipal buildings on the other. At that time of night though, coming up on about ten-thirty or so, everything on both sides of the street seemed to be closed down. There was nobody on the sidewalks, and there weren't even any other cars on the road. But that was just lucky. Because God knew Carol didn't want to run into ANYBODY else that night.

After what happened with Miss Evelyn and her "headache," she didn't trust that anyone couldn't be infected.

It was just then of course that she did see another car. It was cutting through a bigger intersection that they were just coming up on. Of course 'bigger' was a relative term in a town the size of Blackburn, but this intersection was a four way cross, with two-laned streets, so that could almost be considered 'enormous' by comparison to pretty much everywhere else Daryl had taken her.

At lease everywhere she'd seen so far.

And on the other side of this larger intersection, that even had a single four way stoplight dangling down in the center of it . . . which was the only stoplight Carol had seen since arriving in Blackburn . . . there was another big, well lit, parking lot. This was no school though.

This was their final destination.

Carol could see that for herself without Daryl saying anything. Because on one side of the two story brick structure, were the open, oversized doors of the town's fire station . . . volunteer only, as she recalled . . . and then on the other side, was clearly the sheriff's station. The lights were blazing on both stories, of both sides of the building. So it was clear that unlike the rest of the Blackburn city government, these two departments were still very much open for business.

In fact it was clear looking through the open doors leading into the big, empty garage . . . no ladder truck or engine inside, just a grease stain on the floor and a pole leading up to the ceiling in the back . . . that the fire department was likely out on a call.

God only knew what kind.

And as Daryl was pulling them around and over the bump into the parking lot, Carol could see about a half dozen pickup trucks of varying ages, plus one station wagon, parked over on the fire department side of the lot. Then on the sheriff's side, lined up against the fence, there were two family type SUVs, one oversized, deluxe model pickup, and then directly out in front of the building, there was a single sheriff's department cruiser.

That was the only government vehicle Carol could see anywhere around.

And though she wanted to ask Daryl how many cruisers the town had, and if he really thought they could all be out on emergency calls . . . she kept those questions to herself. Because she knew that he would be guessing just as much as she would be.

Jolene was the better one to ask.

And . . . Carol's eyes widened . . . speak of the devil. Or at least she was pretty sure it was the devil.

So to speak.

But it was just as Daryl was pulling into the parking spot closest to the double glass doors labeled " _Blackburn Sheriff's Office,_ " and the below that, " _Sheriff_ , _Jimmy Joe Baker,_ " that Carol saw a very small woman coming through those glass doors, carrying a very big rifle.

Seriously, it was almost bigger than she was.

And if she hadn't been wearing a uniform, Carol never would have guessed that a person could be so tiny . . . barely five feet, if even that . . . and still be a police officer. But an officer she clearly was, and Carol had her confirmation that was indeed the famous Jolene (aka, "Jolie"), because Daryl was muttering a, "that's her," even while he was rolling down the window.

"Hey Jolie," he called out, somewhat breathlessly, "you still here by yourself?"

"Yeah," the dark haired little woman swallowed and nodded as she hurried over, her eyes darting everywhere around into the shadows of the brightly lit lot, "nobody's been back since they left on their initial calls, because I just keep sending them off on new ones. And so you know, Greg took the call on Lindy Street, he said McGreavy was definitely dead, but," she shook her head, "no sign of Miss Evelyn. The front door was wide open though, so she likely did get out. And when he found Miss Roberta in the downstairs hall, her injuries weren't, um," Jolene cleared her throat, "survivable."

"Oh God," Carol sniffled, "poor Miss Roberta. If only she'd come with me." And Daryl reached over to pat her arm.

"I know sweetheart, I know. But it's not your fault."

But then Jolene jerked her head back towards the door.

"Speaking of injuries though Dilly," her eyes bounced around the parking lot again, "we gotta get inside, before anything happens here."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered while fumbling for the locks, "I know, trust me that's our motto too. We're comin'."

Then he whipped the door back, and turned to look over to Sophia . . . she'd just about stopped crying.

"You first darlin'," he murmured while putting his hand out as he started to slide out the door, "you're gonna stay right with this police lady, Miss Jolene." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he came out next to the truck, "she's a very good friend of mine. And she's got a nice big gun, so we've got no worries about any crazy people, okay baby?"

"Yep, okay," Sophia sniffled as she got up on her knees and scooted across Carol . . . who brushed her fingers along her side . . . to get to Daryl. That's when he reached in and scooped her out of the truck with one arm.

Then he turned and passed her over to Jolene.

"Jolene, this is Sophia, and," he shot his old friend and mother of two little ones herself, a sharp look, "she's had a real bad night."

Jolene gave him a quick nod, right before her attention shifted down to the girl on her hip. She gave her a sad smile.

"I'm sorry to hear you've had a bad time Miss Sophia. But," she nodded, "it's just the four of us here now, so you'll be safe inside. I promise. And I'm gonna pull the gates down too, so nobody else will be able to get in the front door unless I let them in."

"The gates," Daryl muttered while turning back to grab his shotgun down from the rack, before slipping his arm around Carol's waist . . . she'd shifted herself across the seat while he was talking to Jolene, "I didn't even know that thing still worked."

When the fire department, slash sheriff's station had been rebuilt back in the early two thousands with some federal grant money, they'd added in a few fancy security measures that the old station hadn't had.

The 'gates' were one of those fancy measures.

Now the old station had just been a single bullpen area with one bathroom, one jail cell, and one key to lock both those doors. So no, the place wasn't exactly Fort Knox. But seeing as how the city'd been pulling the old building down anyway for a mold problem, the sheriff had opted to apply for one of those 9/11 grants to actually rebuild the place like a 'real' police station. And that had included what Jolene had once drunkenly told Daryl was, "the platinum package." And basically the platinum package (if that even was the real term for what they'd done) was a _de_ -luxe option to cage up the building from the inside. What happened was, if all hell was breaking loose _outside_ , the cops could push some button and these metal gates dropped in to cover over the windows and doors so nobody could else get inside the building. As far as Daryl knew, they'd only used it the one time so far, just on the day it was installed.

And that was only to make sure the damn thing worked.

So as he spun back around with Carol in his arms, and his hunting rifle dangling from his shoulder, he was kinda curious if that shit _did_ still work. Because if there was ever a good day to lock yourself inside a makeshift sardine can, it would be the day cannibals overran the damn town!

And he was just about to ask Jolene if she'd tried working the gates yet today, when he saw that she was staring at something over his shoulder.

"Come on," she hissed while stumbling herself and Sophia backwards through the open door, "inside! Now!"

And Daryl's head snapped up and around to see there was somebody out on the sidewalk across the main street. Even with the gap between the streetlights, you could tell there was something wrong with the way the person was walking though.

It was kinda like a lurch.

"Oh shit," he cursed while turning to run himself and Carol up the eight steps to the door that Jolene had propped open with her hip.

She'd already put Sophia down on the hard white tile inside the lobby.

"Move back, baby girl," Daryl muttered to her while sliding by Jolene to get through the doorway. And Sophia, as always, obeyed like a little Marine. She'd jumped out of the way, and was back up against the wall, before Daryl and Carol had even made it all the way inside the station.

That's when he rushed over to put Carol down on the closest visitor's bench, before he ran the other way past Sophia . . . giving her a gentle push, and a, "go sit with your mama, darlin'" . . . and back over to where Jolene was still standing in the open doorway.

She was looking through the scope of the Remington.

"I think that might be Davey Gibbons," Daryl muttered with a squint while eyeballing the young man now dragging his way across the middle of the street.

He was heading right for them.

"It is Davey," Jolene murmured. And then before Daryl could blink . . . she fired off one shot. And as she let the rifle fall down to her side, Davey's body was still falling backwards into the street. From behind him in the station house, Daryl could hear both Sophia and Carol calling his name.

They were both half in a panic.

"It's okay," he called over his shoulder, "we're okay! I'll be right there!"

And then his eyes shot back down to Jolene at his side . . . she was scoping out the street again.

"Holy shit, woman!" He hissed at her in disbelief, "you _know_ Davey's a drunk! Maybe he was just sloshed!"

And she turned and looked up at him then.

"I saw him through the scope, Dilly," she answered quietly, "he wasn't drunk."

Then she put her hand out and pressed her palm down on his chest.

"Come on old friend," she let out on a heavy sigh as she tipped her head towards the lobby, "I have some things to tell you."

/*/*/*/*/

"I don't understand."

This was the third time Daryl had repeated this sentence as he paced anxiously back and forth across the station house lobby, scrubbing his palm across his forehead.

At present, it was just the three adults out there. Because after she'd introduced herself to Carol, and had gone over to set the system moving to slide the metal gates and bars over the windows and doors . . . and God damn, was THAT was a loud ass process(!). . . Jolene had offered to get Sophia setup with a video while the big people talked. And after all that had happened, God knew that child needed some quiet, non-traumatic, kiddy cartoon time more than anything right then. So after a hug and a kiss from her mama, Daryl brought Sophia over into the chief's office, which was through a door right off the wall behind them.

There was no outside access to it.

And while he was hugging that girl close, and whispering in her ear that everything was gonna be just fine, Jolene was putting in the video for her. It was one of those Toy Story movies that Daryl remembered watching with Sophia back in the city.

Turned out that was the cartoon Jolene's little ones liked to watch when they came to the station.

So once the movie was going, Daryl got Sophia settled into the visitor's chair, while Jolene pulled a juice box for her out of the chief's private little refrigerator. She said he kept a whole stash of 'em in there for when his grandkids came to visit.

Which worked out well for them that night.

So even now while he was out there in the lobby pacing, Daryl could see that girl clear as day through the big, bullet proof, glass window. She had her little bare feet dangling off the floor, while she sucked down her apple juice, and stared up at the big flat screen TV mounted there up on the wall.

And while Sophia was watching her movie . . . with the door closed . . . he and Carol had been sitting out there on the bench, watching a video of their own.

It was one that Jolene had received from a cop buddy of hers down in Atlanta. It was taken off a cruiser dash cam, and it showed a scene similar to what Daryl and his girls had already experienced in the city, except this was a different stage of the infection cycle, rather than just the 'after part' that they'd been seeing.

The after part being the actual violence, that is.

The part they'd been missing though . . . was the bit that Daryl just did not get. Because he'd just seen, in full color, and hi-definition, a cop car roll up into an alleyway, in broad daylight, where a homeless lady was laying out flat on the ground. That lady's eyes were closed, and she was totally not-responsive at all, when the cop tried to talk to her, or check her vitals.

Honestly, she really seemed dead.

But then when the cop turned away, and was talking into his radio, you could see from the video that the homeless lady started twitching there on the ground. It was kinda like watchin' a horror movie when you wanna scream at the person to turn around, because the crazy, masked killer is coming up right behind him.

Except this was real life.

And while the cop was still turned away, talking into his radio, putting in the call for the coroner was what you could hear on the sound, that not dead person, suddenly got up off the ground. Then of course the horrible, flesh ripping attack that happened next, was virtually identical to the ones that Daryl had already seen happen before.

And it was something he could live his whole life without ever seeing happen again.

This one was particularly gruesome though, what with how the blood spurted out of the cop's neck and splattered all over the windshield of his cruiser. So _that_ , the attack, wasn't what didn't make sense to Daryl.

It was how these people went from this 'Coma State' to 'Rabid Cannibal,' that he could just not understand.

Though when he noticed that Carol was still holding Jolene's iPad in her hands, as she played the whole video back for herself again . . . it was ninety-six seconds long, and this had to be her fifth time at least watching it . . . Daryl realized she might be seeing something that he was missing.

"What is it sweetheart?" He asked with a slightly furrowed brow as he walked back over to the bench, "what do you see there?"

"It's what I don't see," she murmured tightly, still staring down at the screen. Then as he sat back down next to her on the smoothly polished wood, her eyes suddenly snapped up and over to Jolene's.

She was sitting on the edge of her desk, just watching the two of them.

"The officer didn't make a mistake when he checked the vitals, did he?" Carol asked softly, already knowing the answer to her question, but still dreading getting the confirmation, "that woman on the ground really wasn't breathing, was she?"

And Jolene's mouth twisted in a bit of sad smile as she gave Carol back a little nod.

"Got it in one."

Then she looked over at Daryl sitting there at his girl's side, and she added with a faint, humorless, huff. "You finally found yourself a smart one, Dilly."

And Daryl stared up at her for a moment, before his attention shifted back over to Carol now leaning over with her head in her hands . . . her whole body had started to shake. And that just scared the ever living SHIT out of him! But of course that new fear just came out in anger. Because that was his default.

And as old as he was, he still hadn't gotten past it.

"God damn it!" He growled, "one of you needs to tell me RIGHT NOW what the HELL you're talking about before I lose my mind!"

Carol brought her hands down and looked up at Jolene . . . and then she started to cry. And so Jolene gave her a nod and murmured, "I've got it," as she hopped off the desk, and started walking towards the two of them.

"You see, Dilly," she started softly, "these people that are attacking everyone, they aren't really sick," she bit her lip, "at least not anymore. That's what Carol just realized from watching the video."

His face screwed up then, in complete confusion.

"Well, _I_ didn't see what she saw, Jolie," he grunted back with an annoyed shake of his head, "so what does that _mean_ , that they aren't really sick?" He looked back and forth between Carol biting down on the back of her first . . . she seemed to be absolutely devastated by this thing he still didn't understand . . . and Jolene now standing in front of them.

She just looked exhausted.

And they both looked so distressed, in such different ways, that the anger kind of faded out of him. Because whatever they knew that he didn't . . . it was gonna be horrible. And so he sucked in a ragged breath, as he reached over to take Carol's hand.

He could not abide her crying.

"Just tell me, plain out," his voice dropping to a whisper as he looked back and forth between those two very different women, who both meant very much to him, "if the people ain't sick when they're attacking us, then what's the matter with them?"

Jolene let out a tight breath then as she stooped down and put her hand on his knee.

"They're dead, Daryl," she whispered sadly, "they're all dead."

And feeling his stomach drop, as the blood began to drain from his face, Daryl's fingertips dug into Carol's palm.

"The hell, you say," he ground back, trying to tell himself that he'd heard her wrong . . . but all the while knowing he'd heard her just right.

But still, Jolene repeated it back for him again. That time as her hand fell off from his knee, and back to her side.

"I know it sounds completely insane, Dilly," she continued quietly, though with enough authority that Daryl had no doubt she seemed to know what she was talking about, "but the people who are attacking us have already died. Now I'm going to tell you everything we've learned this week from all the departments we've talked to. The ones who have been dealing with this a lot longer than we have. So," she let out a heavy breath, "first comes the infection, and you can get it either through that flu, or a bite from another infected person. So you _cannot_ get bit," she gave him a hard look, "even if the bite seems minor, it doesn't matter. Because once you're bit, you're infected," she shook her head, "and that's it. So far there's no cure, and no treatment even to slow things down until somebody comes up with one. So that infection will kill you within a few hours, to a few days, with this horrible fever that just burns you up from the inside. I haven't heard any particular reasons yet as to why some people live longer than others, it seems to just be one of those things. But in the end," she bit her lip, "everyone dies. And _when_ you die, it's just like people have always died. You're gone. But this _thing_ ," her expression twisted then into one of sadness and disgust, "somehow it makes you come back. You don't come back as the person you were though," her lip pressed together, "you're just one of those undead monsters trying to eat people. And the only way to kill these undead _monsters_ , is to destroy their brains. A head shot's the easiest way, but some of the officers have managed to take one out with a bash from their nightsticks or flashlights. You have to keep hitting them though until that brain is scrambled, or else they'll just keep coming at you."

She brought her hand up then to gesture towards Daryl.

"You know, like what you said with Mr. McGreavy tonight, and how he wouldn't stop coming at you two. That's because he couldn't stop until his brain was gone. So don't feel guilty thinking you killed him, Dilly, because he was already dead long before you got there."

When Jolene said that, Daryl blinked, and looked off to the side. All he could manage to get out was an, "I . . ."

And then his voice faded off.

And even though he wanted to call bullshit on every INSANE, crazy-ass thing that woman had just said to him, somehow in his gut . . . he knew it wasn't crazy'ness.

It was truth.

Because it somehow made all the stuff that he'd been hearing that week, that didn't make sense, finally MAKE sense. And as he began mentally replaying every attack he'd already seen, and every weird thing that had been reported on the news, suddenly he could see it all so different.

See it all so clear.

"That's why he was bleedin' brown," he murmured to himself. And Jolene took a step closer.

"What?"

"McGreavy," he continued on, softly, while scrubbing his palm along his thigh, "all those bullets I shot into him, he didn't really bleed like normal. Like when there are drips and spurts," his brow wrinkled as he thought back, "he just kinda leaked. And he didn't leak red blood," he bit his lip, "he leaked brown."

"Yeah," Jolene let out a heavy breath, "he must've been dead for a few hours at least by then. But it might've taken him a little while to figure out how to get out of the house."

"So wait," Daryl's eyes darted over to the big glass doors down front, now with the internal bars crisscrossing over them, "they can work doorknobs?" His wild eyes shot back over to hers, "what else can they do?!"

There was a clear layer of panic coming into his voice, thinking about an actual dead person opening a fuckin' door! But Jolene just shook her head.

"I can only tell you what I've learned from the videos and blog posts we've been getting from the other cities. Everybody's sharing all the information they get as fast as they get something new, and we're consistently hearing that they can all walk, that's for sure, but no running so far. They can get a little speed if they're chasing someone, but a healthy," she tipped her head, " _living_ person, can outrun them. It's happened once so far that we know of, with an incident in Louisville where the officer ran out of bullets but still got away. And beyond that," she bit her lip, "I know that they don't respond to their names, or seem to be able to speak anymore, or drive a car, or do anything else that's uh," her brow wrinkled, "well, complicated, I guess is the word. Mostly they just shuffle around, and," she swallowed, "eat."

Then she was quiet for a moment, before adding with a slow exhale, "they're calling them walkers."

And Carol tipped her head back.

"Who are?" She asked with a sniffle, while wiping the tears from her face.

"It started with Kansas City Homicide," Jolene answered with a bite of her lip, "but it's been catching on with everybody now, and it's on all our message boards. I mean," she shrugged, "they aren't real people anymore, so it's as good a name for them as any I guess. But we're keeping it off the radio for now. At least until the sheriff makes his announcement tomorrow."

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ring of the department phone . . . both Carol and Daryl jumped at the sound. But Jolene just hurried over to grab up the line. Then she listened for a minute, before jotting down whatever it was the person said. And whenever they were done saying what they were saying, she ordered the person on the other end of the line to stay inside their room, with the doors locked, until an officer could get there.

Then she hung up the phone.

A spit second later she was grabbing up the dispatch radio, and putting out a general call for the next available unit to go to the Trinity Baptist Church over on Lily Road, that the minister and his family were trapped inside the downstairs living quarters.

There was some kind of animal growling outside the window.

Once Greg Pembrey (Jolene's husband, and fellow deputy) had come back, saying he was just finishing up on Peach Tree, and that he'd take the call, she gave a Ten-Four . . . and put down the radio.

For a few seconds there was just silence in that big, hollow room. And then Daryl shook his head in disbelief.

"Jolie," his brow darkened, "why the hell didn't you all tell everyone as soon as you found out what was going on? I mean, how are you guys sitting on something like this?"

The words were accusatory, and there was clear anger in his tone, but mostly what he was feeling towards his friend was disappointment.

And hurt.

Because this thing that was happening to them, was BIBLICAL for Christ's sakes! Literally, dead people were up and WALKING the earth, and not only that, they were out there tearing out the flesh of the living! That's end of days shit right there! And if you got a heads up on the fucking WORLD ending, that's not information anybody would keep to themselves!

At least not keep it with any kinda conscience!

Which was why it really kind of shocked him, that Jolene of all people . . . one of the _few_ good people he knew . . . woulda been party to keeping this thing quiet. But he could see from the look of disbelief that she was giving him from over at the dispatch desk, that she might be taking some exception to the questions he was asking.

"Who the HELL would've believed us, Daryl!?" She shot back with a frustrated wave of her hands, "I mean God, people get locked up in mental hospitals every day for screaming about signs that the world's ending! The mayor would've taken our guns away if we suddenly announced, 'oh hey guess what?! Revelations just kicked in!' I mean we only started getting this information over the weekend. And the attacks weren't really making the news until Sunday, but by then at least everyone was aware of the danger of being," she rolled her eyes, " _eaten_! And that seemed to be enough information for now. I mean God, Dilly," her eyes started to water, "I haven't even told my _parents_ about this yet, and they're watching my KIDS right now! But for Blackburn, nobody outside the sheriff's department, and Dr. Chowdhury over at the clinic, knows about any of this stuff we've been learning. And the sheriff only told Dr. Chowdhury so that she could implement a protocol for if someone came in with the fever, or God forbid just up and died on them for no apparent reason. Beyond that," she shook her head, "we swore an oath to keep it quiet as long as the town seemed to be symptom free. So we were just praying to God that somehow being out here in the middle of nowhere would save us, and then we'd never have to tell anyone what we knew. I mean come on, Dilly," Jolene's voice broke, "wouldn't you rather have gone to your grave never knowing the dead were coming back to kill the living?!"

Feeling a stab of pain and guilt in his chest for the heartache he could hear in Jolene's voice, Daryl bit down on his lip. Then he gave her a slow nod.

"You're right, Jolie," he whispered, "I'm sorry for what I said. Nobody would've believed you. Hell, even if you'd told me all this on Monday, I probably wouldn't have either. And that's even given what we saw in the city. But it's just the type of situation you gotta, well," he winced and shook his head, "it's just gotta sink in by degrees just how bad it is, before you can start to maybe accept how much worse it might really be. But given how we've got dominoes falling all around here now, you are gonna tell the town tomorrow, is that right?" He asked with a worried squeeze of Carol's hand.

And he saw Jolene immediately give him a nod back as she wiped the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "we wrote up our own protocol earlier in the week. You know, if _this_ happens," she gestured with her hand, "then we do that. And if that happens, we do this. And when you called tonight to report a possible infected person out at the lake, that kick-started our first action step, with the whole department being called back to the station. Now we've started step two, which is the extermination of any reanimated persons that we find, and tomorrow will be step three, communication with the town. The sheriff's briefing the mayor tonight to make sure that the schools and all of the other municipal buildings are closed tomorrow. Fortunately closures are something that can be handled by the autodialer, so they'll start that at five am. And then at eight am, the emergency alert will cut into all the regular radio and TV programming, to tell people we're under a State of Emergency, and to tune in to the cable access station at nine am. That's when the sheriff will do the full, live, briefing on what's going on, and what's happening next."

"And what is happening next?" Carol cut in softly, "is there really a plan? Or are we just going to be winging it here, like everybody else seems to be doing elsewhere?"

"Oh no," Jolene shook her head, "we really do have a plan. We've pulled the city voting rosters, and divided up the town by quadrants, and then sections within each quadrant. And tomorrow, we'll be pulling up all the auxiliary deputies, and the volunteer firefighters and, well," she gave Daryl a look, "anyone we trust with a gun, and we'll be deputizing everyone. Then we'll be starting a house to house to find who out who's infected. If the house is clean, it'll be marked with a green S, for Safe, and we have a flyer we'll be passing out to those people, advising them to stay inside as much as possible and to avoid interacting with anyone who's behaving strangely, or appears to be sick."

"And if somebody is sick?" Daryl cut in with a twitch of his jaw, picturing dead Davey layin' there out in the street.

"If they're symptomatic for the infection," Jolene answered back with a scrub of her hand across her mouth, "then we'll be moving them to a makeshift clinic that we'll be setting up at the elementary school. But if they're _beyond_ symptomatic and already," she swallowed, "reincarnated, then we'll be continuing with the extermination process. The plan is, if we can get the Mayor to agree, to pull in the sanitation department too. We want the bodies to be collected as quickly as possible, and burned at the crematory on the back end of Rural Route 3. Our hope is if we move fast enough, well be able to get ahead of the infection, and then have a real chance to save the town."

For a second Daryl just stared up at Jolene, and then he let his watery eyes fall to the shiny, white floor.

"All things considered," he murmured, "it does seem a decent enough plan, I'll give you that. But," and his eyes slowly tracked back up to hers then, "there are some real problems with that plan too, Jolie. Like you just told us not five minutes ago, how there's no cure for the flu or the bites, that they both kill you within days at most, and make you into those things. And you had to have seen the news, Jolene," he continued quietly, "so you know it only takes one of those, uh," he waved his hand, " _walkers_ , to pop up and cause total chaos. We saw these attacks in the city. They're like rabid dogs just snapping their jaws at anything that moves. One of these walkers in a panicked crowd, could probably get his teeth into a dozen or so people. And we've got fifteen _hundred_ people in this town, and your department, already, on day _one_ ," his voice started to catch and he cleared it, "are all over town, on calls that God knows how many of our neighbors have already died and been turned into this walker state where they're just mindless cannibals. So taking in all of that reality, how can you _truly_ ," he gave her a desperate, disbelieving look, "believe you can save this town?!"

It wasn't like he was trying to be a dick here, but seriously, he'd been watching HOURS and hours of newscasts that week, and so far he hadn't seen a report of even one city or town, ANYWHERE in the WORLD, that wasn't fallin' hard, and fallin' fast the second this shit showed up. And due respect to Jolene and her co-workers, who he believed (cops or not) really were trying to do their best for folks, but they sure as hell couldn't be the only ones out there that thought they could come up with a great plan to get control of this thing.

He'd just love to hear of one of those plans that was actually _working_!

Though as he saw Jolie's eyes begin to fill, he kinda hated himself for pushing back on her with the reality of this situation. The reality being that they were FUCKED!

Even if it had to be done, he still felt like a complete asshole.

"I _have_ to believe we can save the town, Dilly," Jolene whispered back, "because the alternative is just giving up and letting everything go wild, until there's no coming back from the end. And that's why I'm serious about deputizing you to come with us." Her voice started to crack, "because we're going to need all the good help we can get mobilized at the beginning, or this plan _won't_ have a chance."

Feeling another kick in the gut at Jolene's plea, Daryl turned to look over at Carol . . . who he could see was crying again. Their watery eyes only made contact for a second, before she winced and looked away.

That was all the consulting he needed to make right then.

He closed his eyes.

"You know I'd do anything for you as a person, Jolie," he murmured, "you know that. And for everybody's sake, I do pray your plan does work. But," his eyes slowly opened onto her watery ones as he blinked back his own tears starting to pool, "this is a hell of a bombshell you dropped on me, and it's kinda blowing my mind, you know. I mean Christ Jolie, this is Sunday school, bible shit happenin' here. And I need to go home and think on all this, and try and figure out our real odds here of this getting turned around. And until I get my own handle on what's happening," he shook his head, "I couldn't really consider throwin' in with your lot, to run with this big plan. And I hope you understand it ain't personal to you, me saying no right now. It's just in a situation like this," he let out a heavy breath, "when the situation has never been before, I really have to do what's best for mine."

And that was the kick of it, for the first time in his life, he had his own folks to look after. And Carol and Sophia _NEEDED_ him! So he couldn't be throwing himself right in doing EXTRA dangerous work with Jolie and her people runnin' around trying to find out who else was infected, without even a second thought. No . . . his jaw twisted . . . he needed to be _responsible_ here. And that meant thinking all this shit through like a real adult. And then after that, he needed to talk out all the options _with_ Carol.

Because come hell or high ground . . . he gave his girl's fingers another squeeze . . . they were in this one together.

But he could see how with the tears trickling down Jolene's cheek, that him opting outta joining up with this plan she was puttin' so much faith in, had hurt her. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"All right, Daryl," Jolene sniffed as a faint edge came into her tone, "you think on it, and you let me know if you come up with a better plan than we did."

"Now come on Jolie," he started, "please don't be . . ."

Daryl tried to reason with her, but she just cut him off again.

"I have things to do, Daryl," she swallowed and scrubbed her hand across her face, "so uh . . ."

And she kind of trailed off with a look. A look which Daryl clearly took as the, "here's your hat, man, what the hell's your hurry," that it was intended to be. So after a half beat, he gave her a slow nod.

"Right," he started to stand up, though still holding onto Carol's fingers as he did so, "of course, we're gonna be on our way. But before we go," he made a gesture with his free hand towards Carol's foot, "you got a med kit we can use for a minute? Because she's got a hunk of glass in there that I'd like to get out before we leave."

Even if Jolie _was_ seriously pissed at him, he knew she'd never deny Carol gettin' patched up. Of course Carol's foot was just the worst of her bleeding. She also had what looked like bramble scratches all along her arms and chest, and even one on her neck.

However the hell she'd gotten herself out of that house, she'd gone out _hard_.

But yeah, sure enough, right after he asked Jolene for the kit, she was mutterin' a tight, "yes, of course," as she gave another sniffle and turned to hurry over to the main check-in desk.

That's where she started digging around in the back, under the lower shelves.

"Here," she said after a few seconds, while pulling out what looked like a little blue suitcase, with a big red cross on it, "this should have everything you need."

The bag she pulled out was definitely bigger than the usual home size medical kits. Though as Daryl hurried over to take it from Jolene's small hands, he did figure they probably did see more than the 'average' type injuries there in the jailhouse.

Hell, patchin' up Merle alone every weekend, was probably a special line in their budget.

"You might want to use the ladies' room there," Jolene added with a still slightly clipped tone and jerk of her chin, while passing the bag over to Daryl, "it'll probably be easier to clean it out."

"Yeah," he gave her another slow nod, "thanks."

He wanted to say something else then, to maybe apologize for not being on her team, the way she'd wanted him to be. But she'd already turned to walk away. It was clear that she was done talkin' to him.

And that really hurt.

Because even with all the dumbass mistakes he'd made over the years, she hadn't froze him out like this since the very first time he'd fucked up bad enough to actually get sent to the big house. He was eighteen then, and one night at a party, he'd ended up kickin' Billy Holcomb's ass for calling his date a "cheap, hillybilly whore."

And that was Billy's date mind you, not even Daryl's.

Now granted his date, Lindsay Ford, did have herself a bit of a reputation . . . but she'd also had a daddy who had started molesting her when she was six years old. That had lasted on through with nobody knowin', until one day her mama had come home early from a church meetin', to find her husband raping his nine year old daughter. Mrs. Ford had beat that bastard's brains in with a frying pan, and then got off on a justifiable homicide. But by then the damage on Lindsay was already done. So Daryl had understood why she acted the way did, going from boy to boy, with no thoughts on deservin' more from them, than what they were taking from her.

Basically she was just an abused kid, with a sad life, who was trying to figure out where she fit into the world.

Billy on the other hand, he was just a complete douchebag. He was then and still was one now, so he'd gotten the full ass kickin' he'd deserved for bein' cruel to that seventeen year old girl, who'd already had a lifetime of shit thrown at her. But unfortunately in the process of kickin' that douchebag's ass, Daryl had split his skull open too. And it took thirty-five stitches to seal that ugly mug back up again. Billy's family had some money, so they'd pushed for the felony assault charges against Daryl, even though Billy had gotten in a few good licks of his own on Daryl's ribs and kidneys. But Daryl had spent the first fifteen years of his life, with his daddy kickin' in his ribs and kidneys on a regular basis. So he didn't think to say nothing to anybody about the hits he took from Billy, until the bruises had already faded. Which was how Daryl ended up gettin' his first felony assault conviction.

And why Jolene had refused to speak to him for almost a month.

Not for beating up Billy . . . she'd punched that asshole in the face herself a week later at the drive-thru . . . but for not tellin' anybody that he'd gotten hurt too. She'd screamed at him that he'd fucked up his whole life, and how was he ever gonna get out of that shithole town now. Then in the end she and Jack were the only ones, besides poor Lindsay . . . who he ended up dating for about six months . . . that went to visit him when he was in jail. And he was scared to death that first trip to the joint.

He wouldn't of gotten through that time without them.

So with a new tightness in his chest that there might now be a real rift in a lifelong friendship, when they were now reaching a time where there might not be the days left for those rifts to heal up, Daryl made himself turn away. And he started to go back and get Carol. But that's when he saw that she was already up off the bench, and limping towards him on the other side of the lobby.

He just shook his head as he hurried over to catch her before she went any further.

"Sweetheart," he muttered while leaning over to scoop her up off the floor, "if you don't stay off this foot, I'm gonna need one of those space probes to find that hunk of glass in there."

And she let out a slow breath as he straightened up and pulled her to his chest.

"I know, I'm sorry, hon," she murmured back while taking the first aid kit out of his hand, "it's just," she bit her lip as he started walking them over towards the ladies room, "you know I'm used to doing things when I'm hurt, so I keep forgetting to sit still."

"Yeah well," his jaw clenched, "I get that, I guess. But please try to be still until I can patch you up okay?"

The only response Carol gave to him that time, was to brush the back of her hand along his cheek.

Though when they got to the bathroom door, and she looked across the lobby, to the now much smaller view of her daughter through the chief's big window, she bit her lip.

"How many steps is it from us to her?"

And Daryl stopped to look over his shoulder . . . he'd just looped his fingers through the shiny, silver door handle.

"Maybe fourteen," he answered softly, "probably twenty once we're in by the sinks. But I'm gonna keep the door open, sweetheart, and you know we're all alone here with this place sealed up like Fort Knox."

Everything he'd just said was true, but when Carol continued to just stare across the room, not saying anything back to him, the corner of Daryl's mouth twitched. Then he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"I'll go get her."

And she turned her head then, to give him a faint smile . . . though it was filled with grief.

"I just keep thinking about everything Jolene told us," she whispered back, "and I'm terrified out of my mind."

"I know, sweetheart," he brushed his fingers against her cheek, "I know. And I ain't gonna lie to ya, I'm just holding onto the edge here myself. But we're gonna go home in just a few minutes and I'm gonna nail the doors shut, and we'll figure out what we're gonna do next, okay?"

"Yeah," she sniffled, "okay."

"All right then," he turned to yank the door open, continuing to talk as he walked into the brightly lit, blue and white bathroom, "I'm just gonna put you down here," he placed Carol down in the middle of the counter between the two sinks, "and I'll be right back with Sophia."

He finished the last with a murmur, and a harried pat to his girl's knee.

And as Carol was shifting back on the counter to put the medical kit down, and her bloody foot up into the sink, Daryl was hurrying over to prop the door open with the small wooden wedge tucked up against the wall. Then, with one last look over his shoulder at Carol now wincing as she started to rinse the dried blood off her skin, he stepped out into the lobby again.

As he started across to the chief's office, in his head he knew that Sophia woulda been just fine those eighteen steps away . . . he was countin' them back now . . . but in his heart he could see Carol's point. They'd just found out that the world was more fucked up than they'd ever imagined it could be.

And he'd never forgive himself if something happened to that little girl.

No wanting to scare her even more than she already was though . . . she was the only one of the three of them that didn't know how bad things really were, and this wasn't the time to tell her the rest . . . Daryl made sure to give a light tap on the window, before he turned the doorknob. But seeing how Sophia still jumped at the rattle of that bullet proof glass as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, just made his stomach hurt.

Then he pushed the door back.

"Hey darlin'," he said with a little smile he didn't feel, as he walked inside, "we're about ready to go, but we just need to bandage up your mama's foot first, and I need you to help me with that, okay?"

Those bright, slightly too wide eyes, blinked in surprise right before those dangling little bare feet, slid down to the hard tile.

Then she looked up at him with another blink.

"Okay," she answered in her soft little voice, "but what do I do?"

"Well first off," he stooped down to pick her up, "I just need a hug here." His eyebrow inched up as he brought her to his hip, "if you got a spare one you can give me?"

And her eyes crinkled a bit when she gave him back a faint, slightly watery, smile.

"You're silly," was the whisper he got in his ear, while she slipped her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder.

"Silly huh," he murmured with a tight cuddle of that little body, "that's a new one for me."

That hug was something he'd needed though. It hadn't been on his thoughts until he'd seen her there lookin' up at him with those shiny wide eyes, and that nervous bite of her lip. But just like with holding Carol, holding that little one close, did somehow make him feel better even when there was nothing else good goin' on in the world. And he didn't really understand why he felt better with them, than not.

But he wasn't gonna question it.

And after he stood there holding that baby girl for a full five count, he finally let out a heavy sigh, and patted her back.

Then he started walking them out of the office.

As they started crossed the lobby, with him trying very hard to ignore the sounds of Jolene taking another frantic, terrified call from somebody in town . . . it sounded like something bad had happened now over by the creamery, because he'd heard her mention "McClellan" . . . he began whispering in Sophia's ear.

"I just need you to hold your mama's hand, darlin'," he explained quietly, trying to distract those little ears from Jolene's harsh commands going into the radio on the other side of the room, "because that glass is in there good now, and I'm afraid it's gonna hurt her to take it out. So," he patted her back, "you're gonna be your mama's bandage buddy, okay?"

"Yeah," she lifted her head up to give him a faint, tight, smile, "okay." But then that smile fell away, and she just looked scared again.

"Why is Miss Jolene yelling?" She whispered, while throwing a look over his shoulder, and off to the dispatch area.

And he stopped short, about five steps from the bathroom door. For a moment he just stared down at that worried little face that he knew trusted him so much.

More probably than he deserved.

Part of him wanted to lie to her then, and say that yelling was nothing to do with anything they needed to worry about. But he just couldn't make those words come out of his mouth. For one thing, Sophia had already seen too much in her young life . . . not to mention just that week alone . . . to fall for complete nonsense like that.

She mighta had some lousy math grades, but that girl could still put two and two together like a champ.

But almost more important than that, was the reality of how yelling and screaming and running, was probably gonna be the world they were living with for, well . . . he swallowed . . . as long as he could see into the future. And tryin' to pretend like Sophia shouldn't be worryin' about things that she NEEDED to be worryin' about, clearly wasn't gonna work for anything, but to get that child killed.

So he brought his hand up to touch her cheek.

"Gonna be honest with you darlin'," he answered with a soft brush of his thumb along her skin, "the police are real busy running all around town right now, dealing with those same awful things we've been dealing with tonight."

Seeing how Sophia's breath quickened at that, as her eyes darted nervously over to Jolene, and then back up to him, for just a second Daryl was worried maybe he'd made the wrong call in being honest. But then she took a deep breath, as her teeth sunk into her lip.

"But we're okay in here?" She whispered. And his eyes crinkled a bit.

"Yeah baby," he gave her a tight squeeze, "we're okay in here. And we're gonna be okay at my house too. 'Cuz I got lots a guns, and I'm gonna tell you like I told your mama, we're gonna nail the doors shut, and then you'll be safe cuddled up all night with us, okay?"

"Yeah," she gave a quick, fluttery nod, "okay."

"All right then," he turned, letting out a heavy breath as he started walking forward again, "let's get your mama set here."

Then he stepped back into the bathroom.

/*/*/*/*/

It took Daryl a good five minutes to get the sliver of glass out of Carol's foot. And he hated so much how it hurt her for him to do that. But the damn thing had slipped so far up in there, that he really had to dig around to get the end bit. And by the time he got that bloody sliver pulled out, his girl had tears running down her face. That was bad enough, but it seriously almost broke his heart when he saw Sophia reach up with those little fingers, to start wipin' them away. Because he realized then, this wouldn't of been the first time the two of them huddled together in a bathroom, and patched each other up. And with Carol takin' the worst of those beatings at home, this sure as hell wouldn't have been the first time that Sophia had wiped away her mama's tears.

It was just the first time he was there to see it.

But he tried to push those thoughts away, so he could just focus on finishing up.

"All right sweetheart," he murmured while dropping the chunk of glass down into the sink, where it slid in along the porcelain with a rattle, "I think I got all of it. Now we just gotta disinfect," his nose wrinkled, "which _is_ gonna suck, but then I can wrap it up, okay?"

"Yep," Carol cleared her throat and as she started to scrub the pain induced tears off her face, "okay."

And then to distract herself when she saw Daryl move to start unscrewing the cap on the bottle of rubbing alcohol, she asked a question that had been on her mind for the last half hour or so.

"So why does Jolene call you, Dilly?" She whispered, hoping her words wouldn't carry out to the bullpen area. "It's kind of a funny nickname for Daryl."

And she saw Daryl's eyes crinkle a bit at the question . . . though it seemed like it saddened him as well.

"Oh that," his lip quirked up as he began to pull the bandages out . . . he was clearly getting everything lined up to finish, "well, it started when we were practically babies. Jolie had a bit of a speech problem for a few years, and she couldn't say my name right. So somehow she ended up calling me Dilly, and by the time she _could_ say Daryl," he shrugged, "the nickname had already stuck. I mean," he jiggled his head, "you heard, she calls me Daryl sometimes," his lips pressed together, "mostly when she's not happy with me, but more often than not it's just Dilly. Same as when we were three years old," he bit his lip, "and our mommas used to push us on the swings."

Carol's expression softened as she suddenly pictured those two gun carrying, hard asses playing together as little babies in the park. Likely with pigtails on Jolene, and a perfect little part combed into Daryl's hair. Because after all with his momma still alive back then, she probably made sure he was dressed up like a perfect little gentleman all the time. Her eyes crinkled a bit as she looked him over.

If only she could see him now.

"That's really sweet how you guys have managed to stay friends for so long," Carol whispered after a moment. And Daryl had to bite down on his lip again as his eyes started to burn.

"Yeah," he murmured sadly, "I suppose it is." Then he blinked, and his now clear eyes snapped up to Carol's.

"You ready to do this, sweetheart?"

His voice had hardened again.

"Yeah," she nodded, "and don't worry about it hurting, just do it fast, hon. I want to be done."

"Okay," Daryl let out heavy breath as picked up the bottle with one hand, and moved Carol's foot back over the sink with the other, "fast it is."

And so when he saw her suck in a deep breath, as Sophia cuddled closer into her side, murmuring, "it'll be okay, mama," he started pouring the disinfectant.

Then as he expected, Carol let out a moan when the liquid ran over the raggedy bits of flesh on the bottom of her foot, but beyond that, she didn't make a sound. So he did the rest as quick as he could. First by the scrubbing the alcohol around to make sure the wound was good and clean, then rinsing it all off with warm, soapy water. Then it was paper towels to dry off her skin, Bacitracin on the band-aids . . . it took three . . . then he finished up by wrapping a strip of the clean white gauze around her foot, to keep the band-aids from falling off.

It was just when he'd started cleaning up the mess he'd made with all the supplies . . . while Sophia began helpin' Carol wash the tears off her face . . . that Daryl heard a knock on the open door. And he turned around to see Jolene coming through the doorway.

She had a pair of black socks in her hand.

"Here," she held them out towards Carol as she walked the four steps from the door to the sinks, "I remembered I had an extra pair in the locker room. I figured it would at least keep the bandages clean."

"Oh," Carol gave Daryl's friend a little smile as she took the heavy wool socks from her hand, "thank you, Jolene. That's very nice."

"Yeah well," the the other woman shrugged, "I'd let you borrow my sneakers too, but," her lip quirked up as her eyes dropped down to her petite, specially ordered tactical boots, "I'm pretty sure they'd be too small. I'm only a size two."

"Yeah," Daryl grunted a bit as he turned away to zip up the med case, "I remember your whole foot always did fit into the palm of my hand."

And when he looked back up to see that both women were giving him a strange look . . . Jolene's was more of annoyance, Carol's more of confusion . . . he realized that he mighta said something wrong there.

"What?" He looked back and forth between the two of them, "what'd I say?"

Jolene just shook her head.

"Anyway," she muttered, before turning back to Carol, where her tone lightened again.

"It was good meeting you, Carol." She nodded, "and I'll keep you and Sophia in my prayers."

Suddenly feeling a stab of grief in her chest that she and Jolene couldn't have met at a different time, when they might've had a chance to become friends as well, Carol bit her lip.

"Thank you. And I'll do the same for your family," she said with a nod, and a faintly watery smile.

"All right then," Jolene let out a sigh as she turned to look back at Daryl . . . there was less anger in her tone than before, "I just radioed Colette. She's been running the calls on your side of town, so she's going to meet your at your place in about ten, fifteen minutes. If she's not there when you get there, just wait in the truck. She'll make sure you guys get inside okay, and then do a walk-through of the place with you, just to make sure everything's secure before she goes."

Daryl nodded.

"Got it," then he bit his lip, "thank you for setting that up, Jolie."

"Yeah well," she shrugged, "she's over there anyway."

Then she paused for a second like she was gonna say something else. But instead she just reached over to pat Sophia on the arm, and whisper, "goodbye sweetie," before she turned to go.

Daryl watched her walk out the open door and into the lobby, before he shot Carol . . . who was shifting around on the counter to pull the socks on . . . a quick look.

"Give me one second, sweetheart," he murmured with a squeeze of her wrist. Then he hurried out of the bathroom, after that little woman who he'd known for the majority of his life.

He actually no memories of a life before she was in it.

So as he stepped out into the lobby, and his eyes tracked over to Jolene already halfway back to the dispatch area, he cleared his throat.

And she stopped short.

"Jolie, are we okay?"

The question came out faint, and kinda hesitant. But that's 'cuz the thought that maybe they weren't okay, was really making him feel sick. Because he didn't have but a few friends, and with Jack's death tonight, he had fewer now than he did even that morning. And with everything else going straight off to hell, he didn't know what he'd do if now he'd lost Jolene too.

It'd leave a hole in his gut.

So when that little woman didn't answer him, instead opting to just look down at the floor, he felt another stab there in his heart. But then finally she turned around . . . and she looked up.

There were fresh tears in her eyes.

"Thirty-eight years we've been friends, Dilly," she whispered back, "so I guess it's probably a bit late to kick you to the curb now."

His jaw twitched as he started walking closer.

"I'm sorry if I disappointed you, optin' not to help with your plan," he spoke quietly, with a nervous tap of his fist against his stomach, "and I'm not saying I'm totally out. It's just like I said before," he stopped in front of her, "I need to process all this, and then think on what's best for me and my girls."

For a moment Jolene just stared up at him, with that same sad look on her face. And he thought she was still pissed . . . or at the very least disappointed. But then suddenly she surprised him by leaning up on those itty bitty, combat boots of hers, to give him a tight, two armed hug around the neck.

She had to be on her tiptoes to get that done.

And as his arm came around her back, and he lifted her slightly off the ground, she pressed her lips to his ear.

"You've always made your own way," she murmured, "I'm just happy that you finally found somebody to go that way with you."

Then she leaned back to give him smile . . . though she still looked terribly sad.

"I love you Dilly Dixon."

Her voice broke at the end. And thinking back to all the all times she'd said I love you to him over the last thirty some odd years . . . some days just because she was drunk, other days just because she was Jolie . . . Daryl felt a fresh stab of grief in his chest. Because he knew this day wasn't like those others. Because on this day she was saying it as a goodbye.

Just in case.

"I love you too, Jolie P.," he answered her back with a hitch in his voice, and watery smile of his own, "you know you were my best girl 'til you had to go and become a lousy cop."

"Yeah well," she let out a half chuckle as she wiped the corner of her eye, "I'm sorry I disappointed you with my career choice." Then she sobered a bit as she tipped her head, "I'm sorry about a lot of stuff. Like I could've helped you more over the years," she swallowed, "especially when we were kids."

Knowing that she was talking about the years of beatings he took from his daddy, Daryl just shook his head.

"It all worked out the way it was supposed to," he answered back with a sniff, "so don't you worry about that. I did okay enough." Then another thought came to him though and he sucked in a ragged breath.

"But I do wish we coulda saved Jack from these last few horrible years," he added with a crackle in his voice, "but I guess that was all really out of our hands, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Jolene choked down a sob, "I think it was mostly out of our hands. But you're right," she reached up to start scrubbing away the tears trickling down her face, "it seems like we should've done more for him too." Her expression twisted then, into one of horrible grief, "after all he suffered, he didn't deserve to die like that. As one of those things. So you," she reached out to smack Daryl's chest as her voice hardened, "you be careful! Because I can't take you dying on me too."

Daryl blinked back the tears in his own eyes, as he slowly shook his head.

"I ain't planning on dying anytime soon, Jolie," he grunted back, "so don't you worry about that. You just watch your own ass, 'cuz you got little ones to take care of."

Her kids were only three and five, and single digits was much too little an age to be growin' up without a mama.

Daryl knew from experience.

But he could see Jolene give him a sharp nod, as she started walking over to the communications room.

"I know Dilly, believe me I know. So if you're ready to go," she gave a peak into the room to check out the outside surveillance video, "it looks like the parking lot's still clear."

Then another thought seemed to come to her, and she turned back to him just walking up behind her.

He'd wanted to see the video for himself.

"One more thing we've been hearing that I forgot to tell you," she added with a gesture back towards the street camera . . . the one where Daryl could see the faint outline of Davey's formerly undead body, "the walkers, they're attracted to noise. So just remember that if you have to kill one," she bit her lip, "it might bring in more."

"All right," Daryl let out a heavy breath, "that is a good tip. Thanks."

Then he turned to run over and grab up his rifle up from where he'd left it on the bench. And after he'd checked the safety on his Glock . . . he wanted it off . . . he was just about to go back in and collect Carol and Sophia from the bathroom. But that's when he realized they were already coming out of the bathroom door.

Sophia was helping her mama limp along.

"Oh I'm sorry sweetheart," he muttered while he hurried over to meet them in the middle of the lobby, "I didn't mean to leave you two in there."

"No, no," Carol waved it off as he slipped his arm around her waist, "it's fine, hon. Sophia actually had to pee so we needed the minute. And with the glass out, my foot's much better now for walking. "

To demonstrate, she lifted said foot up, and flexed her (borrowed) sock covered, toes.

"See," she breathed out, "it's fine. Just a little sore, but it'll be good to go tomorrow." Then she let out another breath as she looked up at Daryl.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Yep," he nodded, "I'm ready." Then his eyes darted over to Jolene's as he quickly added on, "can you open just the gate on the door, and keep the rest of the place locked down?"

That was his sincere hope, because he did not like the idea of her having to compromise the security of the whole building . . . the building she was in all by herself . . . just for the three of them to get out of there. If it came down to it, maybe they could wait until one of the other deputies came back.

Then she'd have to open the place up anyway.

But then he saw Jolene give him a sharp nod, just before she turned to run back into communications.

"Yeah I can do that," she called to him over her shoulder, "you guys just get down there by the door and be ready to run out. I'll hit the front gate button only, and while it's opening up, I'll get to the door myself. I go out first to keep point, you guys head straight for the truck, no stops. Got it?"

"Got it."

Both Carol and Daryl muttered the words back at the same time. Then, as they started hurrying across the lobby and over towards the main door, Daryl's eyes darted down to Sophia double timing along next to Carol.

Those little legs were pumping.

"Darlin'" he called over, "this time I am gonna carry you when we're outside. Sweetheart," his attention bounced over to Carol, "you're on my belt. You slide in my door, it's unlocked. Go all the way over, and make sure your door's _still_ locked. Sophia in the middle between us, belts on ASAP. Okay?"

"Yep," Carol let out a heavy breath as they stopped in front of the row of iron bars that had come out of the wall, to lock into place over the glass encased, double doors leading outside.

Which was right when those bars started to retract back into the wall.

And then Jolene was running towards over to them with her rifle back in her hands.

"The lot's still clear," she hissed, right as she hit the closed door on the left. It went flying back so hard, Daryl was kinda surprised the glass didn't shatter.

Then she went running on through.

"You ready for this?" Daryl muttered to Carol as he stooped down to scoop Sophia back onto his hip.

She immediately hitched her arms around his neck, and legs around his waist, just like she had earlier in the night.

"Actually," Carol whispered back while putting her hand on his belt, "I'm terrified out of my mind. But yeah," she gave him a sharp nod, "I'm ready to go."

"It's only ten seconds to the truck," he added with a twitch of his jaw as his eyes tracked through the clear view out the doors and into the lot, "and we'll be moving again within thirty."

It was just then that Jolene gave him the wave over her shoulder.

So with his Glock in hand, Carol on his belt, and Sophia clinging on in spider monkey mode, Daryl started through the door.

But then Jolene threw her hand up.

"Hold up," she hissed, "I hear something."

They all froze, and then Daryl heard what Jolene just had a second before . . . that distinctive growl.

His eyes were wild with panic, as they darted across the parking lot, and over to the shadows between the off duty vehicles.

It was the fire department's side of the lot.

"There," he raised up the Glock, getting ready to fire if Jolene didn't, "coming out by the blue Chevy."

It was a woman, but not one that Daryl recognized right off. And that wasn't just 'cuz of the shadows, it was mostly because of the state she was in. Her face was dirty and her dress was ripped, and her hair . . . which enough of the overhead light was hitting to see was a shade of blonde . . . was in knots and snarls all around her head.

"Oh my God," Jolene gasped as the rifle fell down to her side, "that's Irene!"

And Daryl's jaw dropped.

"Christ," he murmured, "you're right, it is."

Irene Stetson. She was one of the younger hairdressers working at the main barber/beauty shop in town. She was only about twenty-five, and a real stunner in the looks department, so she'd caught just about everybody's attention when she'd moved to Blackburn a couple years earlier.

Daryl never woulda recognized the girl she was then, to the walking corpse she was now.

Because as she moved the rest of the way outta the shadows, still snarling as she dragged her way forward, he saw how those pretty green eyes of her were all wrong now. They were dark and cloudy.

And there was drying blood around her mouth.

"God DAMN it!" Jolie choked out, "she's already _bit_ someone!"

Then, in what was clearly a flash of grief and rage, she swung the rifle back up to her shoulder, and Daryl clapped his hand over Sophia's eyes.

"Don't look, baby," he murmured, as again, Jolene fired just one shot. But she was a trained markswoman, and the one shot was all she needed. Irene's brains splattered all over that shiny blue pickup.

The body hit the ground a second later.

And for a moment, outside of the buzz of the sodium lights, there was just quiet. But then Carol . . . out of all of them . . . gave Daryl's arm a slight push.

"We need to go."

Her voice was hoarse with pain and fear, but she was still clearly the most focused of the adults there at that time. But that's 'cuz she'd never known Irene. She's never seen her toothy smile, or heard her laugh. Or had been given one of those ridiculous bear hugs of hers, that she'd given to anyone and everyone, all through the Christmas season. Irene had loved Christmas. His eyes started to sting.

Everybody got a free candy cane with a trim.

But those weren't memories Daryl could afford to be indulgin' in right then. Carol was right. Grieving was for later. If there was time.

Right now they just needed to go.

So with a heavy sigh, he jammed the Glock back into his waistband, and took off running towards the truck. Then Carol was slipping past him, and yanking the door open, and jumping inside.

He shoved Sophia in after her.

Then he turned around to give Jolene . . . who'd run over with them . . . one last, fierce, hug.

"You get back inside before another one shows up."

The words came out as a growl while he squeezed her as tight as he could, again . . . just in case it was the last time.

And when he let her go, and slipped the gun strap off his shoulder, so he could jump into the truck, she smacked her hand down on his back.

"You call me every day, Dilly," she ordered as he shoved the rifle up onto the rack, "just so I know you're not dead."

And he jerked his head.

"I will." he jammed the key back into the ignition, "I promise."

Then as she was stepping back, something else came to him and his eyes darted back over.

"Actually, Jolie, one more thing. Can we hook up tomorrow?" He jerked his thumb over to Carol and Sophia, "'cuz all their stuff is still inside Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta's place. They literally got nothin' but what they're wearing, and I don't have nothin' that's gonna fit 'em but t-shirts."

Jolene blinked, and then took another step back.

"All right um," her eyes darted up and around the lot as she pulled the rifle up to her chest, "okay. Well, obviously I don't know how much crazier things are going to get short term, but the sun's up around six-thirty, and I'm hearing these things are a little quieter in the daytime. So we can touch base then, and if I'm free," her gaze snapped back to his, "I'll swing by in the SUV and pick you up for a run to the house."

Then she looked past him to give Carol a faint, tight, smile.

"We'll get you guys sorted somehow Carol, I promise."

"Okay," Carol bit her lip, "thanks Jolene."

And with that, Jolene gave a final wave, and then she took off at a run back to the door. Of course Daryl waited until she was inside. And then with the engine running, and Carol's terrified gaze anxiously bouncing between the side windows and the back mirrors, he gave it another twenty seconds until the bars started to slide back over the glass doors.

That's when he tore out backwards.

And of course he left the parking lot at the standard breakneck speed that Carol was becoming accustomed to that night. That time, he took them up at least to fifty, and did not let up on the gas at all, except for a hard slam on the breaks, and a rolling stop through any of the neighborhood cross streets. So the trip from downtown to his house, which he said would normally take about ten minutes . . . was done in maybe six. And they were moving so fast, Carol was happy to say that she had NO idea what was going on outside their windows. That is, if there were any more of those walker people out there on the sidewalks, or in the bushes, she didn't see them.

And God knows she didn't want to.

Because she really was not up for dealing with another undead person that night. It was bad enough just knowing that this was the actual WAY of things now.

At least as long as things continued to last, that is.

Because contrary to Ed's opinion, Carol was no fool, and she'd been going to bible school since she was three years old. So she knew that a plague rising up like this . . . the kind you find in Revelations, where the dead walked the earth, and the number of people dying had already moved into the millions barely five days in . . . could actually be a human extinction event.

Literally, End of Days.

Every time that phrase came to her though . . . which was about every other block they flew down . . . it brought her back to tears. But every time she started to sniffle again, she set Sophia off too, so Carol was trying to make herself not think about anything at all.

That was about the only way to be a good mother for that ride across town.

Then by the time they reached Daryl's street, she was terrified enough just about having to get back out of the truck again, that she was pretty much beyond tears. But then, thank God, she saw the cruiser lights coming up from the other direction. That had to be the deputy who was meeting them.

Colette.

And yet again, Daryl confirmed the thought she had, about three seconds after she had it. He pulled up into the driveway, and the cruiser parked out in the front. Then it was another quick introduction through his open window, right before he tossed Colette his house keys. After that it was another run, run, run, that time with Daryl carrying Sophia, his bow, and his shotgun, and Carol carrying his duffel bag, and his quiver full of arrows.

They ran inside the house just after Deputy Colette had opened the door.

That was the point where Carol started to feel a slight bit of the vice grip, starting to let up on her chest. But then she, Daryl and Sophia, had to wait in the living room, while Colette did a check of the upstairs. Once that was deemed all clear, she did the basement, and then finally she and Daryl did the full first floor together. And with nobody spotting any broken windows, or busted locks on the front or back doors, the house was deemed, "safe." A term that almost sent Carol off on another crying jag.

That time it would have been hysterical tears though.

But then Colette was gone, and Daryl was locking the front door behind her. And true to his prior word . . . while she and Sophia stood huddled together there in the middle of that shag carpet in the Dixon living room . . . her man got his tool bag out of the kitchen, and he nailed that door shut. Then he went out and did the same thing to the one leading off the kitchen, and out onto the back porch.

When he came back into the living room, he finally pulled that pistol out of his waistband for the first time in an hour. Then he walked over and put it down on the coffee table.

"All right," he turned around and let out a heavy sigh, "both of you give me a hug now."

Neither one of them needed to be told twice for that one. Because Sophia immediately put her arms out, and he leaned down to pick her up. And with her hanging off his left side, he slipped his arm around Carol's waist. Then she leaned in against his chest on the right, and wrapped her arms around both him and Sophia.

For a moment they were all quiet, leaning against each other, and then Daryl cleared his throat.

"I'll tell you now that I won't lie to either of you," he murmured, "and I'm not gonna make promises to you two that I can't keep. So what I will say," he tipped his head back so he could look first Sophia, and then Carol, directly in the eye, "is that I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. And in here tonight," his attention drifted away and over their shoulders for a minute, "I can say for sure that we are safe. So," his eyes snapped back to Carol's, "my place is yours. You go anywhere you want, open any door or drawer that you want, though I would suggest staying out of Merle's room," he tipped his head off and down towards the hall leading off the backside of the living room, "if only to keep you from suffering anymore scarring than you already suffered tonight."

Carol's eyes crinkled a bit at that . . . it was the first bit of genuine humor she'd felt since before everything went to hell back at the biddies house.

So she took a step back, letting her hand slide down from Daryl's back, to catch his fingers instead.

"If you have a t-shirt she can wear, I'd like to get Sophia a bath before bed." Then she looked over at her daughter hanging off of Daryl's neck, still with the smears of dirt and grass stains covering over her pajamas, face and arms, "she took quite the tumble getting out the window."

Of course Daryl immediately nodded as he turned to start walking them towards the hall.

He stopped them at the foot of the stairs.

"My bathroom's upstairs here," he pointed, "first door on the left. It's got everything in there that you need, including clean towels in the hall closet. And I'll dig out some t-shirts for you guys to wear for bed, and uh," his eyes darted back to Carol's, "if you want, we can put your clothes you're wearing now, into the wash, just in case we can't get your other stuff until later in the day. At least then you'll have something to wear that's not too big, or covered in dirt."

"Yeah," Carol nodded, "that sounds like a good idea. So um," her eyes crinkled a bit, "you want to show us around upstairs, just so we don't get lost."

And his lip quirked up.

"Course, sweetheart," he gave her hand a tug, "come on," he started walking them up the step, "let's go take the tour."

/*/*/*/*/

Daryl took them around the full upstairs, pointing out what was in each of the four rooms, and where they could find all the towels and the sheets and all that stuff. Then when he was finished, he added, (Carol thought a bit bashfully), that they could either sleep in his bed, or he'd make up the one in the spare room for them. The spare room actually had been Merle's room growing up.

Though Carol had seen no remnants of him in there now.

It was just a small, plain, room with a four poster bed, a single nightstand with a single lamp, and a single dresser across on the other wall. The wallpaper was a pale blue, that was fading a bit on the spots where the sun had been hitting the walls for the last forty years. As guest rooms went, it was a perfectly fine one.

Carol also knew that she had intention of sleeping in there tonight.

Maybe tomorrow, after things had settled a bit. But tonight, she was definitely planning on cuddling up with Daryl and Sophia both, in the big bed, in his room. That was the one at the front of the house. She would've liked that room best anyway, even if she hadn't known it was his. But there was something about it that was kind of cozy. Maybe it was the blackout curtains.

Or maybe it was just because she did know it was his.

Either way, she told him that was where they would sleep, if it was okay with him. And of course he'd said of course, right before he gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he went over and opened up his bottom dresser drawer, and took out two t-shirts. One was a plain pale blue, and the other was green with a picture of the Atlanta state flag on the back. After he put them out on the bed, he patted Carol's arm as he told her he was going to start digging out Merle's guns.

She said okay.

So then Carol stayed upstairs with Sophia, long enough to get her undressed and settled into the shower. Once she was sure she was okay . . . and she definitely seemed to be getting calmer and calmer, the longer they were in the house . . . Carol told her girl that she'd leave a clean towel for her on the rack, and to put on the green t-shirt out there on for bed (Carol had decided that one was a smidge smaller than the blue) but to put the same underpants back on again, because they needed some for sleeping.

Once Carol got the expected, "'K, mama," from her soapy headed daughter (she was going to smell like Daryl and his Irish Spring, which Carol thought was kind of sweet) Carol picked up Sophia's dirty pajamas and headed over to Daryl's room. That's where she changed out of her own dirty pajamas . . . they were smeared with dirt and grass stains and blackberry juice from the berries she'd crushed hitting the ground . . . and pulled on the blue t-shirt instead. It just skimmed the tops of her thighs. Then again, as she'd instructed her daughter, Carol left on her current pair of underwear.

Though she did opt to put both Jolene's socks, and her sports bra, into the laundry pile.

The sports bra went in because really, if at any point that evening Daryl wanted to take a quick feel of her boobs, they were reaching the point where he was more than welcome to do so.

So from there, she did a slight limp down the stairs . . . her sore foot was more sore with the muscle clenching involved in working the steps . . . and brought her little pile of laundry through the living room, and out into the back hallway.

That's where she stopped in front of the open levered doors.

Daryl had opened them earlier when he was doing the check of the downstairs, so Carol had clearly seen that was the area for the washer and dryer, back when she was standing in the living room. So she started a small wash, and then when she noticed a few of Daryl's shirts in what was clearly the dirty clothes basket, she started a slightly larger one.

But after she had everything swish, swashing, she closed the doors and walked down to the end of the hall to where Daryl had said Merle's room was. And seeing that the light was on in there, she had to assume that's where Daryl was now, digging out those guns he'd wanted to find. When she poked her head through the doorway though, all she could see were her man's legs, and that nice butt of his.

The rest of his body was mostly hidden from where he was digging around underneath the bed.

"Hon," she called in, "do you have any hot chocolate?"

"Yeah sweetheart," came back the muffled reply, "in the pantry. If you can't find any packets, I know there's plain chocolate and sugar, to mix some from scratch."

"K," she murmured with a tap of her fingernails on the doorframe, "thanks."

And so she turned and walked back down the hall, through the living room, and out into the kitchen. When she stopped and looked around at the few cobwebs up in the corners, and the grease marks over the stove . . . not to mention the bit of stickiness on the floor . . . she could see that the place could use a bit of scrubbing. But that was to be expected with just two men (and mountain men at that), living in the house.

They probably didn't even notice things like that.

Really, even though most of the appliances were a bit old, the place actually didn't look too bad, all things considered. But Carol figured that if there were going to be staying there for a little while (at least) cleaning it up to a Susie Homemaker stage, would at least give her something mindless to do with her days.

And mindless was also the focus for the rest of the waking evening.

She was trying to just keep herself busy with 'domestic' type stuff. All so she wouldn't start thinking again. Because thinking was bad. Thinking just led to panic attacks and tears.

And there was plenty of time for those later on.

So for now . . . she walked over and pulled open what looked to be the pantry door . . . she was just going to whip up a few cups of cocoa, and see if Daryl had any crackers or cookies or something around there for a snack. Then she could at least send her traumatized daughter off to bed with some comfort food in her belly.

It was all she could do for her really.

And after that, God help them . . . Carol let out sigh as she reached up to take down the unsweetened cocoa . . . then the grownups could talk. Until that time came though, when she had to deal with the reality of their situation again, Carol totally threw herself into the cocoa making process.

And after she'd determined that yes, there were no pre-made packets left, she dug out all of the ingredients to mix up a batch from scratch. Then she dug out a pan from the under the sink, measured some water from the slightly squeaky faucet, dumped everything together and started stirring it up on the stove.

Her little brown, chocolate scented mixture, had just started to come to a boil, when she heard the sound of Daryl's boots in the hall.

Then they stopped in the doorway.

"Hey sweetheart," he called over, "how's it going there?"

At that moment Carol was a little busy trying to get the lumps out of her concoction, so rather than turning around, she just answered him, half over her shoulder.

"It's okay. I found some powdered creamer to add in with the chocolate and sugar, so," she tapped the spoon against the side of the pan, "it should taste okay even though there's no milk."

"That's good, but uh," he cleared his throat, "would it be all right if I kissed you right now?"

And Carol, feeling absolutely POSITIVE that she had just heard him wrong . . . that it had to be wishful thinking after the day they'd had . . . blinked once, before she slowly turned to look across the kitchen.

Daryl was just stepping through the doorway.

"What?" She whispered back, as she felt her grip on the stirring spoon begin to loosen.

"I said I'd like to kiss you," Daryl repeated slowly as he walked across the slightly sticky linoleum . . . the one thing he never thought to clean was the damn floors, "and I was asking if that would be okay if I did?"

"Uh yes," Carol's breath caught as she turned away, reaching out to lower the flame on the burner, "of course." Then, feeling a sudden burst of joy . . . which she would have thought unthinkable after the night they'd had . . . she turned back to give Daryl a gleeful, watery, smile.

"That would be just fine with me."

Her voice cracked there in the middle. But that was because she couldn't believe he was actually doing this right now. There had been a couple of times the last few days where it felt like he was about to make that move, but he'd just kept stopping himself. Like maybe he thought it was too soon. And maybe those first couple days she hadn't been ready, but . . . she bit her lip as he stopped in front of her . . . she was definitely OVER THE MOON, ready now!

"Okay then," Daryl murmured while reaching out to take the wooden spoon from her hand . . . chocolaty brown liquid was about to start dripping all over the floor, "I don't think we'll need _this_."

After he'd placed the spoon down on the counter, he turned back, and though there had been a bit of hesitance in his question . . . Carol could see there was no hesitance then in his movements.

It was like he'd simply been waiting for the go signal.

And just that confidence she could see on his face, when his hands came up to cup her jaw . . . it really was sexy as hell. And as he leaned in, her eyes fell shut . . . and then she could feel his lips pressed against hers.

They were so soft.

That was her first thought. And the second thought was how gentle the kiss was . . . which was kind of how she'd expected the first one would be.

Because that was just Daryl.

But as her hands came up, and her palms pressed down against his chest, that kiss definitely became more than gentle. Mouths were open, lips were being nibbling and breaths were being lost. And somehow, even though both his hands and his mouth were all focused well above her waist, it still felt like her toes were going to curl. That was probably just him though.

Because really . . . she bit down a moan as his tongue swept into hers . . . that man was just sex on a stick!

And she would've been thrilled to stand there in that kitchen, wearing nothing but that too short t-shirt, with that cocoa boiling away, while he made her forget all of those horrible things that were going on out in the world. And it seemed like maybe they might be going that route. But then suddenly his hands slipped to her shoulders, and he backed her up another step.

And that's when her backside hit the hot stove.

She let out a squeak as she bit down hard on his lip . . . and that's Daryl when finally pulled away.

And he did it with a gasp.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he let out on a pant as his hands fell down to land on her hips, and he pulled her over to his chest and further from the stove, "I didn't realize we were so close there to the burner."

And she tried to suck in a ragged breath.

"It's okay," she murmured as she put her head down on his chest, "I'm okay."

And as his fingertips dug into her flesh, he tipped his head down to rest against hers. Then he cuddled her in a little closer, and pressed his lips to her ear.

"I think we were doing pretty good though at that kissing thing, huh?" he asked with a slight nuzzle against her cheek.

It was yet another perfect understatement, from her imperfectly, perfect man. And Carol felt herself nodding a bit as a shy smile touched her lips.

She tipped her head back.

"Yeah, we were pretty good," she agreed with another sigh, and a slight crinkling of her eyes, "but what made you do that right now? I mean," her cheeks started to get a little hot, "why now, when you kept stopping before?"

It might have been a funny thing to poke into . . . his thought process there . . . but when he'd walked into the kitchen, he'd just seemed so distracted by the thought.

Like it was the only thing on his mind.

"Well," Daryl's jaw twisted a bit, "I was just out there in the living room, counting the number of guns I'd pulled together, and I was thinking about everything that Jolie told us, and then all of a sudden," his brow darkened, "I kind of realized that the world really might be ending. For real. And, well," he pulled one of those hands off her hip, to reach up and brush his thumb along her lower lip, "this is what I wanted to do."

His voice kind of thickened there at the end. And feeling hot tears immediately spark in her eyes, as she felt a pang of something pure in her heart, Carol's hand curled up into a fist.

She pressed it against her chest.

"You realized that the world was ending," she repeated back on a sniffle, "and all you wanted to do was kiss me?"

When she said it back like that, Daryl looked away for a second, but when he looked back, she saw that his eyes were starting to get shiny. And then he nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered, "that's all I wanted to do."

And she couldn't help herself . . . she burst into tears. They were the same ones that she'd been fighting all night.

Apparently joy was as likely to trigger them as grief.

"Why couldn't we have just been happy?!" She sobbed into her cupped hands, "why did we have to meet at the end?!"

"Oh sweetheart," Daryl murmured as he leaned down to pull her into a fierce hug, "come on now, please don't cry. Because it's not gonna be the end for us." His voice began to harden then as he rubbed his hand slowly along her back, "I won't let it be. Just 'cuz the world seem to be slidin' off to hell, that doesn't mean we have to go with it."

He leaned back then so he could catch her eyes . . . she still couldn't stop those tears.

"We've got lots of weapons, and a place to hole up that backs up against a forest," he said seriously, "so all we gotta do is stock up on the rest of the supplies we'll need, and I think we can make it through this. But we can only make it if you believe it too, sweetheart." His voice started to catch, "because I can't keep all three of us alive without your help, Carol. I'm gonna need you a hundred percent, to be ready to do whatever needs to be done. But are you gonna be up for that? Because if we fight to get through this hell that's rollin' up on us, you have to know that whatever this world is that's comin' for us next," his eyes started to water, "it's gonna be _hard_."

His voice cracked at the end. And for a moment she just stared up at him, wide eyed, as the tears continued to slowly spill over and trickle down her face. But then finally she shook her head.

"I don't want to give in." Her voice broke, "I don't want my baby to die." She reached up to touch his cheek, "and I don't want you to die. So I can be strong," she nodded furiously while reaching up with her free hand to scrub at the tears on her face, "I can, I can do it. I can help you. Because no matter how hard things are going to get," she sniffled and tried to take a breath, "if you think we can make it, I want us all to live."

"All right then," Daryl reached up to wipe the corner of his eye . . . one tear was trying to trickle out, "that's what we're gonna do." He nodded, "we're gonna live. First thing tomorrow," he continued on with a heavy breath, "we're gonna get those supplies. Food, water, ammo, everything we need to ride this thing out. And we got Merle's drug money down in a safe in the basement. I think he's got at least twenty or thirty grand in there, so that should be more than enough to cover everything we need, long term."

Carol bit her lip.

"How many months is long term?" She asked softly. And he shook his head.

"I don't know, sweetheart. If this really is gonna be as horrible as we think, six months of supplies is the least we should plan for. I mean," his brow darkened, "obviously we should try and get enough to carry us longer, but we need to do all this in basically just one trip so," he bit his lip, "I just don't know how much we can haul."

The truck did have a good sized bed on it, but trying to work out how much food and water the three of them (plus Merle, whenever the hell Daryl could get him outta prison) were gonna need for the duration, was math he just not know how to DO!

Hell, the amount of water _alone_ that they should be getting, could fill the whole damn truck!

"To get enough food to last us months," Carol whispered back as her thumb slowly brushed along the buttons on Daryl's shirt, "we're going to need a really big store." Then her eyes shot up to his. "Piggly Wiggy's not going to cut it, hon."

"Yeah," he gave a grim nod, "I know. I was thinking on that too. I hate it, but we're gonna have to go out in the world, or we're not gonna have a chance here. But there's a Costco we can get to over in Plattsburg. That's maybe an hour's drive going east.

Seeing how Carol's expression darkened at the idea of going so far, he continued on with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, I know," he patted her hip, "it's not my favorite idea either. But there just aren't any of those big bulk stores any closer than that. But," his tone lightened a bit, "the good thing is, like half of that drive is actually gonna be on that back road I brought you in on that's totally deserted. We just reverse our way out, then get on the highway again, and it's about three exits down from there. You can see the Costco sign right there from the highway, and it's right off the exit after you go through like one big intersection. So we really wouldn't have to go too far into Plattsburg itself."

Carol bit her lip.

"And how big is this Plattsburg?"

"Well," Daryl sighed, "it is much bigger than I'd like it to be. Maybe twenty to thirty thousand people if I'm remembering right, so yeah," he rolled his eyes, "it ain't no place we wanna be hanging out. But the key thing is here," his hands slipped around to lock at the small of her back, "a lot of places are still just reporting only a few attacks. Like we were totally fine until tonight. So if the stores are still open in Plattsburg, and God help us if they're aren't, but if they _are_ , then that means things can't be too bad there yet. Make sense?"

"Yeah," she swallowed, "that makes sense. But," her brow wrinkled, "how do we know if they're open, before we go there?"

He shrugged.

"We just call the store. I'd think if they'd closed up, they'd have a message sayin' so. And we could actually ask Jolie if she could call the police there too, and see how things are generally." He nodded, "actually we could do that tonight. And if they're still above the tide, then I think we just go for it, first thing tomorrow. Even if you don't have your sneakers and stuff yet, you got clothes enough for shopping, and hell," he tapped his fingers on her back, "we'll just buy you guys some flip flops when we get there. Because if we can get there before they open the doors in the mornin', we can be the first ones in, no crowds at all, and be back out and headin' home within an hour."

"Yeah," Carol nodded slowly, "it's a good plan, hon. Really. And actually if we have to go to a store, a Costco probably would be safer than most places. You know," she tipped her head, "because they just have the one restricted entrance, so nobody's getting inside there if they're acting strange. And I think if the greeter got rushed, they'd just yanks those gates down." She bit her lip, "Of course I'm not saying something still couldn't go wrong inside, because God," her voice thickened a bit, "have we learned our lesson on how fast things can go wrong. But still," she cleared her throat, "I think we have good odds on getting back safe. And honestly," her lips pressed together, "I'm not sure what else we could do. We have to get food," she let out a heavy breath, "so we'll just have to suck it up and pray for the best."

"Basically," Daryl grunted back with a tip of his head, "yeah, that's about the situation. I mean once we have everything we're just gonna hunker down, but we gotta gather it together first."

"Right, of course," Carol murmured. And then her gaze shifted for a moment before she blinked, and her eyes snapped back up to his.

And she looked so sad then.

"If we make it through all this," she whispered up to him with crackle in her voice, "and if there are other people that make it too, do you think life could ever be like it was before?"

Though he had an answer there for Carol on the tip of his tongue, Daryl bit it back for a second.

Because just sayin' it flat out was hard.

Harder even than admitting that the world really was slidin' off to hell. Because the world had slid off to hell before. Plagues, wars . . . holocausts. Whatever your version of hell was, it had walked the earth more times than anyone would wanna count.

Basically terrible things had been happenin' to people, since the beginning of people.

Somehow though, we always got through. And eventually life _would_ carry on like before. But once the dead start gettin' up and _walkin'_ again, the game's changed. It was just no longer possible to get your brain on board with the idea that this was just gonna be one of those things, like all the others that came before.

'Cuz it ain't.

And he could tell from the way that Carol was looking up at him with those pools filling her eyes again, that she probably knew what his answer was gonna be. Finally he took a breath . . . and he let it out.

"No," he slowly shook his head, "no, I don't think it will ever be the same. I guess," he tipped his head, "that we'll come to the day where we'll have some kind of new normal with the dead people just up and walkin' around, but even if they all die out again, I don't see how we could ever get back to where we were. I think for a long time," he nodded, "it's just gonna be all about the survivin', and the prayers that somebody a lot smarter than us will come up with a cure, or the disease just plays itself out. But whether that'll happen or not," he shrugged, "I don't know. So I think the best we can do is, well," he bit his lip, "try and carve out some kind of life, and live it the best we can."

A fresh pang of grief hit Daryl then, and his mouth twisted up in sort of a wry, broken, smile.

"It's a good thing we were gettin' along so well, sweetheart," he finished on a whisper, "'cuz I think we're gonna be stuck together for a good long while."

And that would've been something he'd have preferred they'd had more of a say in. Not that he didn't want Carol and Sophia to be with him . . . he wanted that more than anything . . . but what he _didn't_ want, was for Carol to feel trapped. That somehow staying in a relationship with him, was the only way for her and Sophia to live. It was like their choice to be together had been taken away.

And now she was just stuck.

Feeling her heart begin to ache at the look of sadness on Daryl's face, Carol leaned up to press a quick, hard kiss on his mouth, right before she murmured against his lips.

"I'd already decided I wanted to be stuck with you for as long as I could."

Then she pulled away to give him a watery smile . . . though this one again had a hint of something bright, and wonderful.

"Even right now hon," she whispered, "being here with you somehow makes me feel joy, even when everything else about this is tearing me up. So," she let out a soft sigh as she brushed the back her hand along the light stubble on his cheek, "you need to let go of whatever those extra worries are that I can see tickling your brain. We're here together because we want to be together, and we make each other happy. And that's all there is to it," she gave him a knowing look, "right?"

And she saw him blink and swallow, right before his lip quirked up, ever so slightly.

"Right."

The word came out a little bit hoarse, but at least she'd made her point, and he'd clearly taken it to heart. Then he pulled her into another tight hug. And when her arms slipped around his waist, and she rested her cheek over his heart, he kissed the top of her head.

"I'm gonna do another quick walk around the house," he started quietly, "and check the out windows to make sure we don't have no visitors I need to call Jolene about. And then," he patted her bottom, "I'm gonna go down in the cellar, and break into Merle's safe. We need to see how much money we have for supplies, and then before we go to bed, we need to make up the list of what we absolutely have to get."

Water and protein bars were gonna be the key things to buy of course. But clearly they couldn't survive . . . let alone raise up a little one . . . on just water and protein bars. As much as possible, they were gonna have to stock up on canned and dried, fruits and vegetables. And vitamins too.

Lots of vitamins.

That was all for the list they'd be making in a little while though. In the now, standing there with Carol, he could feel her lettin' out a soft sigh.

"All right, so if God willing everything's quiet," she tipped her head back, "I'll meet you in the living room in ten, to count the money, make the list, and drink our cocoa with the little Miss who should be coming downstairs any minute?"

He nodded.

"Yep."

Then he gave her bottom a little pat again . . . that was something she could definitely get used to . . . right before he raised his other arm up, and pointed across the room.

"And if you look in that cabinet over the fridge, you'll find some whiskey for your cup."

Her lip quirked up then as she asked him softly, "you want some too, hon?"

"I'd love the bottle actually," he huffed, without much humor, "but I'm gonna have to settle for just a smidge because I need to keep my head clear from now on. So," he sighed, "I guess one beer, or one shot, are gonna have to be my new limit."

It wasn't like he'd regularly spent his days gettin' trashed or nothin', but he was definitely not opposed to gettin' a nice buzz on, two or three times a week. Most especially on the weekends.

But those days were over now.

So much was gonna be over now . . . he closed his eyes . . . he wasn't even sure where to begin making that list. But anyway . . . he blinked and opened his lashes again . . . that was just him gettin' himself bogged down in a pity party. And they didn't have no time for that shit.

There were things to do.

And so after he gave Carol one last peck on the lips . . . because he wasn't gonna be missin' opportunities to stock up on kissing that woman . . . he finally let her go.

He started to walk out of the room.

"And hey, hon," Carol called out with another sniff as she moved to pick up her wooden spoon again.

And Daryl turned around with his hand up, rubbing the side of his jaw.

"What?"

Her eyes crinkled just a tiny bit . . . though the pools remained shiny.

"If you want to do a little more than kissing tonight," she bit down on her lip, "that would be okay with me."

The corner of Daryl's lip quirked up then, ever so slightly, because he was just thanking God for bringing that woman into his life.

"How 'bout we schedule that for the living room?" He asked after a moment, with a slight twitch of his eyebrow, "after we put Sophia to bed?"

Carol gave him a soft smile then, though the tears were still hovering.

"It's a date."

* * *

 _A/N 2: LOOOOOONG Ass Note! If you just want to hear about the kissing bit, skip to the very end :)_

 _Again, trying to really PUT myself into the situation to find the right mindset. And you know when the show opened, it was already so, 'this is the new world, this is how we live now,' but you don't just coast into that. You have to WANT that. Everybody else died . . . and you didn't. And obviously a huge part of that is always going to be luck (Rick being the Powerball winner on that one), but the rest of it was just wanting it/being better at not getting killed. Because like the CDC people, opting out was likely a very real, regularly chosen option at the beginning. If you weren't strong, physically, emotionally, mentally, and you saw the actual Apocalypse upon you where you were likely to die in the worst possible way imaginable, (being eaten alive is WAY, WAY UP THERE on the worst kind of dying), sitting down and eating a bottle of pills, was the kinder out. So we're setting them apart here on day one that they're going to willingly take the hard path._

 _I gave Jolene some prominence here, because just ONCE, I wanted to read a story where there was a genuine public health crisis, and the people in charge weren't complete jackasses! I wrote that story myself because I haven't been able to find it :) Like in Fear TWD (yes, prepare yourselves for my ranting), they made the military commander an evil douche. It's such a fucking, stupid cliché that the government is always evil and that they don't really want to help anyone. And let's not forget the other ridiculous trope that the second command structure breaks down, soldiers will attempt to rape anyone with a vagina . . . even while they are all fleeing a horde of rapid walkers. Yes, that's also from season one of Fear TWD :) And I didn't want to write a story of stupid tropes and clichés. Of course if you're looking for clichés maybe you'll find some, but at the least, I wanted the people of Blackburn to be like the person you are in your head when you're watching these things and thinking, 'no that's NOT what I would do! THIS is what I would do! Because I am an adult with a brain!' So I worked out what I would do if I was the sheriff of a town like this, and I had a few days reprieve before my town started going under. So the sheriff's office has this sorta decent plan, to do their best to save the town. And really what they're doing is kind of the initial protocol we saw in Fear TWD with the Army moving into LA to make safe zones and mark the houses with who is infected, and who isn't. But with a small population, in an isolated area, you would actually have better odds with a plan like that helping to get control of things. In theory. We know it won't work because this really is The Apocalypse, but I just want them to do it all right, and have it still all go wrong. Because I think that's the better, more tragic, story. That you can use your brain, and figure it all out, and you still can't stop the tide. And I'm NOT going to kill everyone in Daryl's existing life! I promise. Though I can't really tell you, WHO you can get attached to, because . . . spoilers! :)_

 _And I figured given how expressive, and affectionate Daryl can be in canon with Carol, if he had another woman who he'd been friends with for literally like FORTY years, it would be very in character for him to be openly expressive and affectionate with her too. Because Daryl from canon was obviously 'damaged,' but not so damaged that he couldn't love these people that he adopted as his new family. And there is a point, and it's not THAT far out there on the emotional damage carousel, where you can be f'd up enough that forming relationships isn't something you're capable of doing. So clearly Daryl still had the tools in place to do that, and even if I'm building an AU here, I'd like to think that he did have friends once in canon too. And yes, they might have had a bit of precautionary goodbye there, but we have not seen the last of Jolie P.! :) I also loved calling him Dilly. But I really thought it more realistic they'd have nicknames for each other, because you know if you have any friends you've kept since you were a single digit aged human, that you are VERY likely to still call them by a name that nobody else in their adult life will call them. And you don't even think twice about it :)_

 _The 'stolen line,' if you didn't recognize it, was the origin of the term walkers. That it started with "Kansas City Homicide." That's from Silence of the Lambs, with how Buffalo Bill got his nickname. It's a famous line from the book that carried over into the movie, and I thought seeing as we're talking 'origin story' here, and that this part of it is coming from a cop, that somebody, somewhere, had to have given the walkers their nickname. And it seemed plausible enough that it could've been a cop, so a little 'homage' to Thomas Harris. And dude, side note, I want to be Thomas Harris. Invent Hannibal Lecter. Write one kickass bestselling book each decade (my kind of writing turnaround), have all of them sold for screenplays . . . set for life._

 _And I felt like Carol, shrewd as she is, would figure things out just before Daryl. Especially if the two of them were given a video and told, this is the answer to the question. She'd sit there and watch it over and over until she'd worked out the solution, while he'd just get pissed off and start pacing because he still didn't have a straight answer, but just another thing rattling his brain. Not that he's 'less smart' than her, but they clearly have different types of intelligence. And temperament would be key in having the patience to work out something subtle like whether or not a person was breathing._

 _The 'Science' of Bleeding Walkers! Here's my own personal White Paper on that :)_

 _So obviously if your heart is no longer pumping then you really shouldn't be bleeding, but we do know that the process of making a 'live' dead walker, into a REALLY dead walker, can make a mess. I figured especially if McGreavy was a fresh turn, the blood wouldn't be so congealed yet, which means that bullet holes would, if not spurt blood (need a pumping heart for spurting) at least make him "leak." There's a fun word. But the nice bright red blood we have is freshly oxygenated blood, and he doesn't have oxygen flowing anymore either, so I decided by this point his blood would have started going a shade of brown. Later, when they're good and rotting, that's when it's black goop. These early ones would be more like that rusty crap that comes out of the sink when the city's cleaning the pipes :) And if anyone has a counterpoint to add in here, I'm open to it! Because this was all just deductive reasoning. It's not like I was able to do experiments or anything :)_

 _To the quote at the top here, I mentioned the 'Books of Gilgamesh' over in Cedar Forest. If you're not reading that one, that's actually how I named that story. The "Cedar Forest" is a world of the Mesopotamian gods. But the books also have this section with one of the gods having her 'sexual advances' rejected by this mortal Gilgamesh, and her swearing her revenge by promising to send the dead back to eat the living. How f'd is that?! I mean all the gods, in all the religions, have pulled some shit, but that really ranks way up there. You wouldn't have sex with me, so I'm sending dead people back to gnaw on the flesh of the living! Just saying, those Mesopotamians did NOT screw around!_

 _Lastly, the kissing! I wrote that scene MONTHS ago. Literally, there was snow on the ground, and I was just waiting for the chapter where I could insert it. And I know you guys have been waiting for them to kiss the last couple of chapters, but you see now why I didn't want to throw in a random smack on the lips, when we had this whole big emotional moment already written for them?! And really, how are you going to resist anyone who says they realized the world was ending, and all they wanted to do was kiss you? Cue, blubbering! :) But it was a fine line working that into not being a schmaltzy cheeseball bit. But two things going for it, A) the world really IS ending, so that's clearly not a pickup(!), and B) the key thing, it wasn't Daryl that actually said it flat out. It was Carol, piecing his thought process back. Which I thought was sweeter and worked more realistically for his character. He wouldn't say that exactly, but he'd be feeling it. He just wants to be with her. And so yes, the plan for them is to gather supplies and hunker down in the house for as long as possible while the Sheriff's Dept implements their bigger plan to get control of the town. But of course there could be some hiccups for everyone along the way ;)_

 _That's all folks! And a standing thank you to everyone for the notes and the reviews and the Tumblr and twitter comments, and all that stuff! Hope you liked how this one all came together :)_


	19. Ourselves, Alone

**Author's Note** : Yes! So soon! But this one is about 10k words shorter than the last. I almost lost my thumbs on that endeavor, ("thumbitis" kicks in with all the typing) so I reined it in a bit this time. Also, I had one scene here (that I'll mention at the end for other reasons) which was already drafted out at over a thousand words, so that was just an insert and a polish. It would be so nice if all the chapters could be 'pre-written' :) It also helped for the rest of it, that there is a lot more narrative here than we've had with the last few 'event' chapters. And I had mentioned if we could hit a spot where I could move to some narrative, we'd likely get a quicker update. Here we are :)

And fair warning if you're now expecting a certain amount of "constant ZA tension" here, this one isn't so insanely intense as our most recent chapters. But there are other elements that I think you'll enjoy ;)

Lastly, I was screwing around with the Movie Maker program on my laptap, and I ended up making 'credits' for this story :) Yeah, I know, it's kind of weird and goofy, but it was fun, and I posted the newest version with the Tumblr post. Basically it's like a 40 second video (just like TV credits) with the TWD theme, and the current 'cast' of characters. So like in this one, you'll meet a new character, he's in the current credits. And I'll put up a copy of the video with each story post, and eh, it just seemed fun. Yes, I know I'm a dork too, but still, this way you guys get to see the players as I picture them in my head, and I get to keep practicing my video creation/editing skills :) Again my Tumblr is, "sienna27" and _again_ , you don't need a tumblr account to go to my public page, you can just google it . . . if you so desire :)

Now, picking up not long after we left Carol in the kitchen.

* * *

 _Thursday Morning_

 _Day 7_

 **Ourselves, Alone**

"Wish we had time to put up a good fence."

Carol lifted her head up from the rapidly expanding list of supplies and 'bullet items' she'd been reading over, to turn and give Daryl a funny look. At the moment, he was sitting next to her on the couch, with a half asleep Sophia cuddled up in his lap, as the two of them stared over at the flat screen across the room.

The adults had finished tallying up Merle's drug money about forty minutes ago, while Sophia was still finishing up in the shower. And then when she'd come downstairs, they'd all taken a break for cocoa and oyster crackers . . . the only snack Carol could find in the pantry . . . before Sophia climbed into Daryl's lap. And knowing that her man temporarily had a new lady . . . her daughter had snuggled up with him like he was a giant teddy bear . . . after pressing a kiss on each of their cheeks, Carol had curled herself up on the other end of the couch, with her legs up, two pillows behind her, and a pen and a notepad in hand.

She put herself in charge of the lists.

So for the last twenty minutes or so, while Sophia stared over sightlessly at an old episode of the Smurfs . . . it was the only cartoon they could find on cable so late at night . . . Carol and Daryl had been quietly working to break out everything they possibly needed to get done, before they locked themselves in for the long haul. It was a hell of a lot of things that they needed to buy, and/or, do over the next two to three days tops.

Carol had four full pages written out already.

And when Daryl didn't elaborate further on the issues with the fence, she prompted him.

"Well, why couldn't we do one?" She asked him after a second, with a faint furrowing of her brow. "The yard doesn't seem that big. Would it really take so long?"

Not that she had any experience at all in fence building, but if Daryl was just thinking about closing up the property right around the house, that seemed to be a relatively small patch of land. Though she could see in how his nose was scrunching up, that maybe in this instance size didn't matter so much.

So to speak.

"It's not so much the size of the yard," Daryl explained with a light drum of his fingers on Sophia's arm, "but more the steps involved. You gotta dig post holes and pour cement and all that crap. I mean," he tipped his head, "for a good fence, that is. The kind that might have a chance of really keeping a safe zone around the house. But," his brow darkened, "that'd be a lotta outside work, which means a lotta unsafe outside exposure, and it doing it all myself," he shot her a look," because I'm not gonna have you two out there for hours on end, well," he let out a faint sigh as his gaze fell to the coffee table, "that might even take a full week. So," he shook his head, "yeah, that's a no go."

Then his eyes shot up to hers, and he leaned over to tap the pad of paper in her lap.

"Write down plywood. Even if we can't seal up the yard, we gotta at least seal up the downstairs windows, inside and out. I can the outside done in maybe an hour or so."

"Okay," Carol started scribbling down the bullet item, "doing the inside sounds practical." Her pen stilled as she looked back up, "but the idea of you standing _outside_ for an hour, pounding nails into the house," she slowly shook her head, "does not make me happy."

Yes, she agreed wholeheartedly that the windows definitely needed to be boarded up on both sides, but again, the idea of Daryl stirring up enough noise to wake the dead, with those DEAD things out there, was doing nothing for her nerves!

But then she saw his expression soften, just before he reached over to take her hand.

"I know," he answered with a squeeze of her fingers, "but it's gotta be done, sweetheart. If Jolene's right about these things gettin' quieter in the daytime, then maybe it won't be so bad. Also," he nodded, "she did say they can't get much speed either, so if I do just window at a time, then take a break and come inside, if one of those things shows up, I'll take care of it, then go on and do the next set of boards. It'll take longer, maybe a day or so, but if it has to be, it has to be."

"Hmm," Carol's jaw twisted, "that's not a bad idea, but here's maybe a better one," her brow quirked up, "what if I just helped you."

Seeing how his jaw started to open, she raised her hand up to wave the pen at him.

"Just let me talk for a second, hon," she cut in gently, "because you're the one that said you were going to need my help, but everything you're talking about doing to fortify this place, you keep telling me you need to do it yourself. But you're taking on too much risk doing that. So," she gave him an imploring look, "let me help where I can. I know I can't shoot, but if I at least go out with you while you do the windows, I can keep watch. I know what these walkers look like, and I know what they sound like, and if I see one then you'll have your gun right there. Because otherwise you'll be out there totally exposed, making a whole bunch of noise, with your back to the danger area. You wouldn't even hear one of those things coming. But if I'm there, the job gets done in one hour, and you'll be a lot safer for the whole process."

There was no doubt that Carol was scared to death at the idea of having to stand outside and be on point, just waiting for those things to show up. But she'd take that over Daryl being out there alone, any day of the week. And she was also pretty sure that she'd just made some solid arguments there for Daryl to let her really pitch in on this one. Still though, good arguments or not, for a second he just stared over at her with no expression. Then finally he tipped his head.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" She repeated back with a raised eyebrow, and he nodded.

"Yeah," his jaw twitched, "maybe. I'll think on it, and we'll settle it tomorrow," he tipped his head again, "okay?"

The problem was, after what she'd just said, he couldn't think of one damn reason that they shouldn't do it exactly how she'd laid it out. Really, his only argument _back_ , was simply that he didn't want her hangin' out outside.

Period.

But if it was broad daylight, and he was _right_ there with the gun if something showed up, then . . . he bit down a sigh . . . it was hard to justify puttin' himself at a deeper risk, just to avoid puttin' her at more minor one. And really how much he could take on all himself, and how much he was gonna have to put Carol in danger to get shit done, were gonna be the regular, day to day type decisions, they had to make from now on.

Whether he liked it or not.

And as he saw Carol giving him a little smile right before she shifted around to lean in against his side, he hated the idea of _ever_ havin' to put her in harm's way. But again, there were parts of this that were gonna be beyond his control. So in the now, he just lifted his arm up, and slipped it around her shoulders.

He pulled her a little tighter against his body.

"All right then," he let out on a sigh as he tipped his head over to rest against hers, "unless you can think of somethin' else we should go over now, we've probably done enough for tonight."

"Yeah," Carol swallowed, "I agree. We'll be up early anyway, so if there's anything else we should work out for day one, we can deal with it then." Then she reached over to brush her fingers along Sophia's cheek.

She'd just conked out.

"We should put her to bed," she whispered. And Daryl took a deep breath, before he began to shift around.

"Yeah," he dropped his arm off Carol's shoulders to slide it under Sophia's legs instead, "I'll carry her up so we don't hafta wake her."

It was good though, that she'd passed out downstairs, 'cuz he'd been figuring that whenever they put her to bed, that on one of both of them were gonna have to stay with her upstairs 'til she fell asleep.

This had at least bypassed that step.

And as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, cradling Sophia in his arms as he did so, he felt Carol's hand on his back.

She came up beside him.

Then with her fingertips clutched on his shirt tail, he led her out of the living room, across the front hall, and up the stairs. When they actually got to his room, Carol made a quick move around him to pull down the blankets . . . he hadn't made a neat bed since momma died, but he did always straighten the covers . . . so he could lean over and put Sophia down on the bed.

Though just when he started to straighten up, he paused for a second with his head cocked to the side, while he looked that girl over . . . she'd just rolled over curled herself up into a little ball.

On the left side of the bed.

"What?" Carol whispered . . . he could feel her hand on his back again. And his nose wrinkled.

"I think it's better," he murmured, while leaning over to hoist Sophia up again, "that I sleep closest to the door."

So with that, he shifted that little girl over to the far side of the bed. That way she was by the window, and if on the million to one chance one of those walkers broke into the house, got upstairs, and came through the door . . . she'd be the last to get hit.

But once she was settled into her little ball again, Carol fixed the blankets up around her shoulders, and he turned out the overhead light. Then he immediately reached over to click on the bedside lamp, because he did not like the idea of complete darkness anywhere in the house. Not until he got that place sealed up with the plywood on all the downstairs windows. Until then, he was leaving a TV, or a small light, on in all the rooms.

That way there wouldn't be no surprises from the shadows.

And when Carol stepped back from the bed and put her hand out, he slipped her fingers into his. Then he led her out into the hall again.

Though when they actually reached the staircase, she pulled her hand away to put it out on the railing instead. And when he gave her a funny look, she murmured how she'd had a little trouble going down the stairs earlier. That it made her foot hurt. So he turned her around . . . and scooped her up on the floor.

And she let out a little chuckled whisper that she could've just used his arm, that she didn't need a full ride. But he just scoffed out a, "pfft, you'll fall and break your neck," as he started carryin' her down the stairs.

Then when they reached the living room again, he walked over . . . and with a huff . . . dropped them down onto the end of the couch. He had Carol cuddled up in his lap, with her head tucked under his chin, and his hand on her thigh. Across the room the TV was still on, and still playin' old timey kiddy cartoons.

It was _The Flintstones_ now.

And for maybe a minute they just sat there, with her rubbing her hand on his chest, and him rubbing his thumb along her thigh. The t-shirt had slid up enough that he could feel her underwear brushing along the back of his palm. And then from the out the front window, came the sound of a siren, and a split second later, the flash of a red light, as a cruiser . . . probably Colette's . . . went flyin' past the house, heading out towards the backwoods.

He could hear Carol's breath catch.

"Would you feel safer," he murmured, while sliding his hand a little further up her leg, "if we slept down here so I could watch the door?" And she was quiet for a second, before he felt her press a kiss on his throat.

"I feel safer wherever you are," she whispered against his skin. Then she shifted to tuck her head against his shoulder again.

"So whatever you want to do," she continued softly, "because I think Sophia should sleep until morning either way. But," she tipped her head back to give him a sheepish smile, "if we did sleep here, I'd probably want to bring her back down again."

His eyes crinkled.

"Course we would. But I was only thinkin' of staying down here if you'd prefer it. I'm okay sleepin' upstairs," his hand finally slipped up and fully under her t-shirt, "'cuz I'm sure the house is safe."

"If you say it's safe," she moved on to nuzzling his throat, "then I believe it too."

Then she let out a soft exhale, right before she began to kiss her way along his jaw. And that's when his hand slid up the last few inches.

His thumb began to gently stroke along the outer curve of her breast.

"You sure you're okay with this?" he murmured with a nuzzle of her ear. And she nodded once, just before she tipped her head back to give him a faint, though still happy, smile.

"I want to feel your hands on me," she whispered with a faint crinkling of her eyes, "so you're cleared all the way through both of us needing a cold shower."

His mouth quivered for just a moment then, before he shifted her around to lay her out on the cushions next to him. And as she looked up at him, he could see that she was biting down on her lip. In fact, she looked a little bit nervous, like maybe she was steelin' up her courage. But then she seemed to find it. Because she took a deep breath, reached down . . . and yanked the t-shirt up off over her head.

And when those beautiful bare breasts suddenly appeared in the soft blue glow of the television, the corner of Daryl's lip quirked up.

"Hands only?" He murmured, while shifting his own body around to straddle her thighs as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. And yet again she bit down on her lip. Then she winked.

And he grinned.

"All right then," he huffed while leaning in to capture her lips, "let's start a fire."

/*/*/*/

They stayed downstairs on that couch for another hour. By that time Daryl was very much on the verge of needin' that cold shower Carol had teased about. But that was 'cuz by then, he'd already had both his hands, and his lips, on most of her body. All he wanted her to do was to feel good. And all he wanted to do himself was to forget for a little while.

They both got their wish.

And even though he wasn't focusin' his efforts on it, she did come one time. And that was just from him suckling on her nipple, as his knee pressed into her down below. And she almost seemed embarrassed by that. That she'd had that much pleasure just from that touch. Because once her breathing came even, her cheeks went pink and her attention shifted off and over his shoulder. But then he kissed her again, hard and deep, and she seemed to forget why she was ever embarrassed at all. Then she got his shirt . . . which was half off . . . all the way off, and his pants undone, and it was about the time that he could feel her hands tuggin at the elastic on his boxers, that he knew they'd gone far enough for that night. Because she was startin' to forget her own limits. And Daryl knew if he let her hands go any lower, that he wasn't gonna be in much of a state to remind her of what they were.

So after pressing one last kiss onto each of those fading bruises he'd found on her body, he finally pulled her up and into his arms again.

"Bedtime," he panted, breathlessly, against her lips. And she nodded once, just before he felt her arms slide around him in a fiercely tight hug.

"Thank you," she mumbled, as she gave him another kiss. That one was softer than his, and he knew the thank you was for him rememberin' how far she wanted to go.

And for not lettin' them go any further.

So he helped her slip her t-shirt back on, and then with a slightly twitchy dick, Daryl got up off the couch and went down the hall to dump his clothes into the laundry basket, and switch the wet clothes into the dryer. And when he came back into the livin' room a couple minutes later in just his boxers, his body had mostly gotten itself back under control. Though that's when he found that Carol was still sitting there on the edge of the couch cushion, starin' down at her toes.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He murmured while reaching over to pick up his Glock from the coffee table. And she tipped her head back then, to give him a bright, watery, smile.

"I'm good."

Then she put her hand out, and when he pulled her up and under his side, she added with a faint whisper.

"Earlier," she tucked her head against his chest, "that was the first time in years that I've had an orgasm, and something battery operated wasn't involved in the process."

Though it was clear that she was maybe tryin' to make a joke out of it, Daryl could still hear that hint of embarrassment in her tone . . . and all he could feel was sadness. Because she shoulda spent all those years with a man who loved her, and worshiped that beautiful body of hers. Instead all she'd been left with were horrible memories, and scars he couldn't heal no matter how much he tried to kiss those marks away.

It wasn't right.

On the other side of it though, he'd felt how her fingertips had paused to brush over the faint white lines she'd found on his back and chest. She'd kissed most of them too. And he knew what she'd been thinkin' about him

Just the same that he'd been thinkin' about her.

So once again he scooped her up to his chest, and he held her close. Then he pressed his lips to her ear.

"Ain't gonna be no more batteries," he murmured, "and there ain't gonna be no more bruises," his voice started to thicken, "not ever again."

She sniffled then, and kissed his cheek.

"Not ever again," she repeated back as she rested her head on his shoulder. And then she swallowed and sniffed, "maybe Ed will get eaten by one of those walkers."

"Hmph," he grumbled, "maybe," then he started walking them towards the stairs, "but it'd still be too good an end for 'em. I'd wanted to get in some shots first."

If that bastard could get his neck broke, be left paralyzed for maybe a week, while he half starved and soiled himself, and THEN he got left out on the street to get eaten alive by a pack of those walkers, now _that_ , that might actually come close to a solid end for a rotten, abusive, prick like Carol's husband. And if Daryl had the time . . . and Carol's old house wasn't so damn far way . . . hell if he wouldn't a been happy enough to go down on a drive by, and put a bullet into Ed's spine, just to get that ball rollin'. But that was gonna hafta be one of those uh, "unfulfilled dream," things.

'Cuz it just was never gonna be safe enough again, to take a long trip like that.

And hell . . . he stepped off the last stair, and up into the upstairs hall . . . it wasn't even that long a trip. Just the other side of Atlanta really, but these days, that might as well have been a drive to the next ocean. So he pushed those thoughts away, with just the faint satisfaction that odds were high, that that asshole would be dead by _some_ manner, come the end of all this.

That was just by the numbers.

So with a bit clearer head, Daryl walked himself and Carol into his room, where he placed her down onto the edge of the mattress. That's when she wriggled back, and rolled over to pull the still sleepin' Sophia against her chest. Once the two of them were set there in the middle of the bed, Daryl placed his Glock down on the bedside table.

Then he climbed in next to his girls.

Carol immediately reached back to take his fingers. And once she had 'em, she gave his arm a tug to pull it around, and put his hand on her stomach.

She tangled her fingers up with his.

And with her settled in with her head on his pillow, he curled up behind her like a spoon. Though they were three spoons really. All lined up like in a drawer.

Big to little.

And with the house still and quiet, and that gun just a few inches away, Daryl tipped his head down, and pressed his lips to Carol's ear.

"Good night, sweetheart."

Then she took a deep breath . . . and let out a soft sigh.

"Good night."

/*/*/*/*/

Daryl didn't sleep so well. Really, 'half-assedly' would probably be the best term for it. Like, he'd go an hour or so, then he'd wake up, sit up, listen for noises, then put his head back down on the pillow and cuddle Carol in close again.

Then it'd take him another five, ten minutes to pass out like he had been before.

That went on from twelve-thirty'ish to round about half past five. That's when he finally gave up on sleepin' all together. It wasn't much rest, but he'd gotten by on less, and he was really so damn wired with that pit in his belly, he knew that'd carry him through most of what he needed to do that day. And maybe in ten or twelve hours, after all the main crap they needed to get done, was done, if he was startin' to fade then, he'd be able to take a nap or something.

Or at least sit down.

What was important was getting an early run on the day. But the problem was he didn't where he could start with it bein' so early. 'Cuz he knew Jolene wasn't gonna be callin' until six-thirty, and it was too dark to go out and do the windows, and it'd be a few hours 'til they could even head off to Costco. Because they didn't open 'til nine. He'd checked.

Twice.

But as he laid there, feeling the back of Carol's warm body pressed up all against his front, and hearing those soft breaths comin' out of his girls, he really did hate the idea of gettin' up at all. Because he'd never had anything like this . . . like them . . . to keep him going. Strange enough, they shoulda been the reason to get up that morning.

At the moment though they were really just the reason not to.

But as he reached over Carol, to brush his thumb along Sophia's chin . . . she had a bit of drool there he could see from the lamp light . . . he suddenly remembered somethin' he could do so early in the morning.

Hit the gun shop.

Because Elmo, of "Elmo's Guns, Guns, and Guns," out on Rural Route Three, prided himself on his early to rise, early to close summer hours. This time of year he usually did six to three, and then that's when he shut down for the day, so he could go fishin'. Granted this was not really peak fishing weather . . . what with a chance of runnin' into dead people dragging themselves out to the lake . . . but Elmo probably didn't know that yet.

Not unless he'd had his own run-ins last night.

And Daryl was thinkin' if he could get the ammo, put in on the three day waitin' period for an extra Glock and one of those fancy sharpshooter rifles . . . sittin' up on the roof and picking those things off from a good long distance was a thought that kept coming to him in his dreams . . . then that would at least be a couple of big things off the list. Also, he kinda wanted to get dibs there on whatever Elmo had in stock, before the whole damn town started gettin' similar thoughts on this point. Though he did kinda feel guilty, thinking about cleaning the place out of basic ammunition, when there were about fifteen hundred other people in Blackburn, who needed to start stocking up on shit too.

Thinkin' on it, it seemed like a real crap thing to do.

Actually . . . Daryl let out a slow breath as an idea started comin' to him . . . maybe, so as not to clean Elmo out, (and screw over everyone else he'd ever known in that town), he could just get himself a single case of each caliber he needed from Elmo, and then get the rest of what they needed to stockpile, some other way. Like if he got himself access to a computer for instance. Like . . . his eyebrow started to twitch . . . the kind he'd be seein' at the biddies' house today. That's where he could put in an online order for a shitload of ammo.

The kinda order he could have shipped for overnight delivery.

It wasn't somethin' he'd ever done before, but he knew lots a guys in town that stocked up that way for hunting season. They said it was cheaper to just get a bulk discount from a big company, than to pay Elmo's prices. Now at the moment Daryl wasn't much worried about prices, 'cuz between his savings, and what he'd scraped up outta Merle's safe and the other places his brother had squirreled cash around his room, they had thirty-two thousand, four hundred and sixty-seven dollars to spend on what Carol had termed their, "Pre-Apocalypse Expense Account." Yeah . . . his eyes crinkled a bit as rubbed his hand across her stomach . . . it was no wonder he was fallin' hard for that girl.

Even with everything all going to hell, she'd still found a way to make a joke.

And her being as perfect as she was, was just reason five hundred and ten, that he was gonna do everything in his power to keep his ladies safe. Because after all they'd suffered under Ed, they deserved to live long, happy lives now. And yeah okay, the happy was gonna be a hard one what with things as they were, but he'd figure something out.

And hell, he had hopes on them all livin' to be old and grey, even if it fuckin' killed him in the process.

And so with that, and the thoughts on the bullets he needed to buy rollin' around in his head, Daryl slowly got himself untangled from Carol, to roll over and drop his feet to the floor.

The wood was cool on his bare feet.

And it was just as he was pushing himself up, that he heard a faint murmur coming from the bed.

Then Carol's fingers brushed over the back of his thigh.

"Morning already?" Was the husky whisper he got along with the touch. So he turned around to see the bleary eyes on that pretty face, staring up at him with some clear confusion.

He leaned over to give her a kiss.

Then he murmured against her lips. "You can go back to sleep for a little bit sweetheart. It's only half after five." Then he pulled back a bit, to brush his thumb along her cheek.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he continued on a whisper, so as to wake Sophia, "and make some coffee, and after that, if everything looks okay out the windows, I'm gonna run to the gun store real quick."

The sleepiness in Carol's eyes cleared then, as her pupils suddenly widened.

"You're leaving us?" She asked in surprise.

"Just for a bit, Sweetheart," he whispered as his hand fell to catch her fingers, now curling up on the sheet, "'cuz it'll just be a lot faster if I go by myself. And I ain't goin' far, so I'm only gonna be gone half hour, if that. Plus," he gestured towards the windows, "the sun's comin' up, the backdoor's still nailed shut, and you're gonna put a chair in front of the front door when I go. I'm also gonna leave you with a baseball bat just for good piece of mind. But you won't need it," he shook his head, "'cuz you're all by yourselves here, and the house is gonna be sealed up just as tight as it is right now. Okay?"

After staring up at Daryl for a second, processing all that he'd just said, Carol gave him a small, tight, smile.

"Yeah," she let out a slow breath, "okay."

Really, she knew they couldn't stay together 24/7 for the rest of these days. No matter how well they planned, there would be times when they needed to separate for a little while. So it was probably better that they have their first, new, 'separation' so quickly, and under optimal conditions. That way she wouldn't become too dependent on him constantly being there. And also for the next time, if he was out longer, or if things _weren't_ so optimal, then she'd be better able to handle it. She was also going to need to learn how to swing that bat just right to scramble those brains like Jolene said.

That was something she could start practicing that day.

Seeing how hard Carol was trying to be strong and show him she wasn't scared to death about him leavin', Daryl's expression softened a bit as he leaned in to give her another kiss.

"You won't even have time to miss me," he whispered, right before his lips touched hers.

That kiss was a little longer than the last, because Carol was a little more awake by then. It was a good kiss too, even though there was no real, deep passion to it. It was just soft and gentle. And even with that pit still in his belly . . . it made him feel really happy.

At least for that little while.

The part that sucked though, was how as much as he wanted to, he couldn't just stay there with that woman all day. They had shit to do. So finally he broke away with one last little nibble on Carol's lower lip. And as he straightened up, he reached over to turn out the bedside lamp.

There was enough light from the hallway, that with him bein' up, they didn't need that lamp on too.

"I'm gonna get that shower now," he whispered, "so if you wanna get a bit more sleep, I'll just wake you when I'm ready to go."

"No, no," Carol let out a heavy breath, while at the same time pushing the blankets back and shifting her body around so she could slide off Daryl's side of the bed, "I'll come with you."

Then, realizing what she'd just said, as she came up next to him, she added with a faintly sleepy grin, "I didn't mean into the shower."

The clarification just made Daryl's lips twitch. And then he slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into a hug. He tipped his head down to rest against hers.

"That's too bad," he whispered with a kiss on her temple, and a huff of amusement, "'cuz we coulda started the day off with a bang."

Knowing how he was just teasing her, Carol let out a half smothered giggle as she rubbed her cheek against Daryl's chest. The fact that it was actually his _bare_ chest, made that sensation SO much better. And feeling all of those warm, hard muscles pressed up against her body, with nothing really but that thin cotton t-shirt separating her body from his, brought back memories of everything they'd done the night before. Which did _seriously_ put the temptation into her head, that maybe she should just join him in the shower. A quickie against a wet tile wall really did sound like the best way to start what she already knew was going to be a scary, and horrifically stressful, day.

The idea of having that quickie was just a passing fancy though.

Because Carol knew in her heart, that as hard as she'd already fallen for that man, and as much as she really did already consider him "hers" for the long haul . . . she wasn't quite ready yet to take that last step. It might've seemed silly with all that was going on, to want to wait that is, but it had just been so many years since she'd been in a loving, physical relationship with a man, that she really needed to kind of adjust a bit before going from one stage to the next. And that had nothing to do with Daryl.

It was just all the damage that Ed had done.

Really, if anything Daryl was probably the only man she could imagine ever wanting to be with again. But last night was their first night of real kissing, and then later, they'd had an amazing time with a full on, hands and mouths everywhere, make-out on the couch. So she figured at the rate they were going, she'd be ready to completely burn down that mansion in another day or so.

Three days tops.

And in the meantime . . . she tipped her head back to let Daryl nuzzle her cheek . . . while they were going about their new business preparing for this dead walking the earth apocalypse (as insane and horrifying as that sounded on EVERY level(!)), she was just going to enjoy the kissing and the cuddling, and all of the wonderful distractions that her man's hard body, and soft lips, could provide her.

It was just then that she felt Daryl's hands sliding down from her back and waist, to settle on the curve of her hips. That's when he pulled her even closer. It was a hard, possessive hold.

And she really liked it.

Especially when he followed it up with a soft nuzzle of her ear lobe. That was the move that always caused her breath to catch, and her breasts to press into his chest.

Of course it happened again just like every time before.

Which was when she heard Daryl whisper in her ear, "that's my girl," and her eyes started to sting. And then he slowly broke away, giving her fingers a quick squeeze before he let her go completely.

Then she watched him pick up his gun, before he turned to walk across the room, and pull back the corner of the long blue curtain. A small beam of pink'ish light cut though that swath of fabric, and hit the top of his dresser.

It bounced off the little figure on the top of a dusty archery trophy.

"Gonna be a hot one today," he murmured, while poking his head around to see out through the window.

And for a second Carol just stood there with her arms wrapped around herself, waiting to hear what else he had to say. But when nothing else was forthcoming, her nerves got the better of her, and she called over in a whisper.

"Well, how's it look?"

And he shrugged.

"Just looks like the neighborhood," he murmured back. Then he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

He was biting down on his lip.

"You know," he continued softly as he started walking back towards her, "I was prayin' to God we'd have at least a few more days before the worst hit here, but right now it just looks so normal out there," his voice faded, "you could almost believe we'd just dreamed all of it last night."

Feeling her eyes start to tear up for the first time that day, as Daryl slipped his arm around her waist Carol looked up at him with a sad smile.

"If only we had."

"Yeah," he let out a heavy sigh as he started walking her out of the room.

"If only."

/*/*/*/*

When Daryl got out of the shower, after he'd dried himself off, he wrapped up in a towel for the first time since Merle had moved himself to the downstairs. Because now there were ladies in the house, and that meant no more walkin' around naked. Yeah, all right, he mighta been okay doin' that with Carol around . . . what with them on the verge of having sex and all . . . but sure as hell not with Sophia anywhere in the vicinity.

Even if she was she still sleepin'.

So with the oversize towel cinched up tight around his waist, and his gun back in his hand, he walked across the hall, and quietly slipped back into his room again. When he looked to the bed, he could see that Sophia was right where he expected, still curled up in a little ball under the blankets and sound asleep. Which was a real relief, because that girl needed the rest. And it was just fortunate she'd passed out from pure exhaustion the night before, 'cuz Carol said usually she needed Anna Marie to cuddle up with when she went to bed. So that was one thing Daryl knew he needed to get back for that child as soon as he could.

Her dolly.

Accordin' to Carol, that little rag doll really was Sophia's best friend, and she'd been left behind back at the biddies house. So Daryl was just praying that it hadn't gotten any kind of horrible'ness on it from when Miss Evelyn attacked Miss Roberta. Because he didn't know if they'd find enough hot water and bleach on the planet, to get those walker germs cleaned off.

Anna Marie might have to be burned.

Oh . . . he stopped in the middle of the room . . . speakin' of cleaning though, that was somethin' they didn't put on the Costco list.

Bleach.

But it was definitely somethin' they should be getting. Because even with the plan to hunker down, only God knew what kinda crap they could be runnin' into over the months that were comin'. Not to mention, worst case, if the water got compromised . . . which it likely would at some point . . . small parts bleach could make unfiltered water safe for drinking. Course that wasn't recommended really except as a last resort.

But half the shit they was planning on was for last resort.

With that mental note made though on somethin' else to add to Carol's papers, Daryl went over and pulled out his clothes for the day. And after he'd slipped his boxers on under the heavy brown towel, he tossed it over to the far side of the room where it landed half in, half out, of his open closet door.

Then he yanked on a pair of brown dickies, and a green plaid button down sleeveless flannel for a shirt. He tucked his Glock into his back waistband.

His socks he just took with him when he left the room.

It wasn't until he started towards the stairs, that the smell of fresh coffee began hittin' his nose. And honest to God, that was probably the first time in years he'd smelled coffee first thing in the mornin', that he hadn't made himself. Because nine times outta ten, he was up before Merle. And even when he _wasn't_ up before Merle, Merle just waited for him to do shit like that because he didn't wanna hafta do it himself.

So when Daryl got down the stairs, after doing a quick peek out the front windows . . . the view still looked just as quiet from there, as it had from the upstairs . . . he dropped his socks on the couch, before he headed back out into the front hall, and continued on down to the kitchen.

That's where he found Carol, still just wearin' that short blue t-shirt with no pants . . . and good GOD did he love that outfit on her . . . pouring coffee into one of the two cups he could see sittin' out there on the counter.

There was something clearly cooking in the oven too.

"Smells good in here sweetheart," he murmured as he walked into the room, "which is kind of a surprise, given how I didn't think there was anything edible left to eat in this house."

"Well," Carol turned around then with a little shrug of her shoulders, and the coffee pot in her hand, "I found a package of crescent rolls in the crisper drawer. They were a few months expired but," she reached over to put coffee urn back on the burner, "the dough seemed fine, so I popped them in the oven to see how they come out."

"Hmm," Daryl grunted back while reaching around her to pick up one of the cups of coffee she'd just poured, "that's good thinking. And even if they come out a little flat," he shrugged, "at least we'll have something to put in our bellies to start the day."

It was either that or oyster crackers. That's what they'd had last night with Carol's homemade cocoa. It actually hadn't been a bad mix, and the cocoa itself came out pretty good. As did this coffee here he'd just taken a sip of.

It was a damn sight better than his.

And while he was takin' a second sip, he slipped his arm around Carol's waist. She immediately put her head on his chest and her hand on his belly. That wasn't a surprise, but with the way she let out a heavy sigh when she did it, he realized she mighta had some point on her mind too.

Something besides the biscuits.

So he put the cup back down on the counter, then he wrapped her up tight in his arms.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" He murmured, with a light brush of his fingers along her side.

"It's just," she shook her head, "I was checking out the front windows while you were in the shower, and somebody was actually out there walking their dog down the street like it was just another day." She tipped her head back to look up at him . . . there was a horrible sadness on her face, "Daryl, these people still have no idea what's coming."

"Yeah," his voice started to catch, "yeah, I know. And it's gonna kill some of 'em just finding out, I know that. 'Cuz there are people here," he shook his head, "they ain't near equipped for this on a mental level. I mean some of 'em," he bit his lip, "the ones that I know are a crack shot, but still have a level head, yeah, if they don't catch the flu, I can see 'em maybe making it through. They at least got some skills. But I think a lot of the real religious types might just give up. And the families with babies, and little ones are gonna be pinched to keep 'em safe. And then there's the old timers," his brow darkened, "Jesus, if that flu doesn't kill 'em up front, and make 'em into those walkers, they're just gonna get picked off by the ones who turn anyway."

It was just then that Carol's eyes suddenly shot up to his as she cried out half in a panic, "oh my God, Daryl!" She smacked her hand down on his chest, "the old people! The biddies' meal program! Nobody's going to be fed anymore!"

And Daryl's eyes widened.

"Ah shit," he cursed, "I forgot all about that! God damn," he winced with a scrub of his hand across his forehead, "but I don't even know what the hell can be done about it now."

"Well," Carol started chewing anxiously on her lip, "the food for today is already made. It would just need to be delivered."

And Daryl's eyes shot back down to hers.

"Sweetheart," he gave her a disbelieving look, "you ain't suggestin' we drive around this town that we know has a growin' population of undead people walkin' the streets, and go knocking on doors of all these old folks I just said are likely to be picking up the infection any day now?"

"No, no," Carol's brow darkened, "of course not, hon. But I _was_ thinking about Jolene. When she calls, maybe you can add the meals onto their big plan of things they need to address today, because," she shook her head sadly, "those poor old people have no food, and no way to get any. They're just going to starve."

According to what Miss Evelyn had told her, most of those folks were lucky enough to have paid off their mortgages years ago. So now they lived entirely off their social security checks, which covered basically nothing but utilities and the bare minimum of household items. Like toiletries and whatnot. But when it came to food, they had hardly anything in the pantries that the biddies hadn't brought over to them themselves. Like preserved or pickled items that they'd made from things in the garden, and then had passed out seasonally on their deliveries. But even that tiny bit of 'surplus' food . . . if they even had any of it left now . . . was nowhere enough for anyone to live off for more than a day or so.

Though Carol could see in how Daryl's jaw was twitching that he was giving this point some thought. Then finally he started to nod.

Very slowly.

"You know," he reached over to pick up his coffee cup again, "that place is actually packed with food, isn't it?"

"Well," she tipped her head, "yeah. I guess you could say that. I mean they've got the two huge pantries and the extra freezers and all those fruits and vegetables outside." Then she reached over to pick up her own cup.

"Why," her brow wrinkled, "what are you thinking?"

And while she was taking a sip of the strong black liquid . . . she really need to pick up some creamer today . . . again he paused like the cogs were going in his head. After another second though, he nodded again.

"I think Jolene and her people should clear out the stockpile," he said with a firm nod, "'cuz we know it ain't the food that was the source of the infection, because we all ate there this week and uh," he swallowed, "well, we're fine, right?"

"Right," she answered with a sharp nod, not even wanting to consider the alternate world where they weren't.

"Okay then," he let out a slow breath, "if they're gonna be doin' their door to doors, no reason in my mind, why they wouldn't be agreeable to starting their knocking, by using the biddies' list. It's handy, right?"

And seeing her nod, he continued softly.

"So all right, that means they could do a two for one, and check for infection and fever, the same time they drop off supplies for those old folks to get by. That way the food don't rot, and old folks don't starve, seems like a good plan to me."

Carol's eyes crinkled.

"Me too. And you're right, I can't imagine anybody objecting to starting with that focused list. Really if anything," she gave him a look, "I'd think checking on the most vulnerable, and likely to be sick, first, would be a wise choice. Then they could move them into that clinic they're setting up if they had to. And if they're not sick, then they can give them a portion of the food and tell them to keep their doors locked until somebody comes back to check on them again. I mean who knows," she shrugged, "maybe if they stay in seclusion they might have a shot to avoid the flu altogether."

Though the odds of them avoiding the flu, and then still surviving all the rest of the violence that would becoming along with the walkers and everything else, were slim, but . . . Carol took a deep breath . . . maybe Jolene's people would figure out some way to keep them safe.

That was probably the only shot the old people had really.

Though she could see from how Daryl's eyes had fallen down to a drip of coffee on the linoleum, that he didn't think much of their chances at all.

But then he looked back up, and shrugged.

"Maybe."

It was just one word, but it was clear from his tone, that his thoughts there were moving to a darker edge. But as Carol thought about it from his point of view, imagining your entire hometown, and everyone you ever knew, getting consumed by this wave . . . it would be a hell of a thing. Yes, she knew that the same situation was creeping up on her hometown of Louisville, and the small Georgia city of Covington that she'd been living in for the last thirteen years with Ed. But her fears for her old neighbors and friends weren't the same as Daryl's were for his current ones.

Nowhere near.

Because for one thing, the people from her world were from city life, and cities were by their nature, anonymous beasts. People minded their business, mostly, and you certainly didn't have the close knit, lifelong relationships, and small town entanglements that Daryl knew. Yes, she'd had close friends and neighbors growing up in Kentucky . . . but that was three lifetimes ago. And by _Ed's_ design, she'd had no friends at all in Covington. The only people she'd interacted with for the last decade or so . . . since her daddy had died . . . were related to Sophia's school, or just salespeople in the stores. Beyond that it was maybe a few neighbors that she might wave hello to when getting in or out of the car.

If her bruises weren't too bad that day, of course.

So though there were some people from that world, like her neighbor Karen who was kind, and had left her those wine coolers, who she would be terribly sad to hear had been killed, (or worse), there was no way to make any comparison to her vague curiosity about those people's fates, and the fear Daryl was dealing with right now.

That of the complete annihilation of almost everyone he'd ever known.

And wishing that she somehow could help him with this terrible part of this horrible thing, but knowing that there was nothing about this burden she could make easier, Carol opted to just lean up and give him a kiss.

She made sure it was a good one.

And when she dropped back on her heels, slightly breathless, to tuck her head against Daryl's chest, she felt his arms come up into a tight embrace.

"What was that for?" He panted into her ear. And she shrugged, and rolled her cheek against his shirt.

"Just because you're mine."

The words were murmured over his heart. And what's when she felt him suck in a deep, raggedy, breath, right before he pressed his lips to her ear.

"Been on this planet for forty-one years," he whispered, "and findin' you two was the best thing that happened to me in all that time. So no matter what else happens," he kissed her temple, "and how bad it gets before the end, you never forget that," his voice faded, "you're my best thing."

Feeling a little spark of tears in her eyes, Carol tipped her head back to give Daryl a watery smile . . . but of course that's when the timer went off for the biscuits. So with a stab of regret, she broke herself away from those strong arms, for the sole reason so as not to burn their breakfast.

But once she'd checked to make sure that yes, the rolls were done, Daryl was the one who dug the ancient pot holder out of the drawer . . . it was a stained, thick, blue and pink flowered mitt, that could only have belonged to their mother . . . and pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. Apparently he figured that was the more chivalrous thing to do.

She just thought it was sweet.

And fortunately those rolls did seem to have come out okay. So though Daryl said that he really wanted to get over to that gun shop by the six am opening, and it was it was inching up on about ten to six at that point, he of course waited long enough for the rolls to cool so he could take a couple to go. And also, knowing how badly he'd slept the night before . . . Carol had woken up probably every time he had, but she just hadn't said anything so he wouldn't feel guilty . . . she also filled a travel mug with another cup of coffee. Then she followed him out to the living room where he picked up his leather satchel and tucked his napkin wrapped rolls inside. That was followed by the list of 'gun related' supplies he'd dictated to her the night before, plus two of the thick white envelopes they'd filled up with Merle's cash. Each envelope was filled with five thousand dollars, half in big bills, half in small.

That was how Merle's drug trade money worked.

Apparently.

Of course she was no expert, but Daryl had given her a crash course on how his brother had made his 'odd job' money. It was very different than from how Daryl made his. Because it had been clear to Carol from the work he'd been doing since she'd arrived in Blackburn, that her man put in a hard, respectable, day's labor, to make ends meet. Whereas Merle on the other hand, made his money off selling dime bags of meth, and taking large payments for full shipments of product. It wasn't a lifestyle that Carol approved of at all, but she couldn't deny that there were few 'professions' that would have given them such immediate, easy access to the tens of thousands of dollars they needed, to get all the supplies they had to buy. So yeah, that was the silver lining for Merle's drug trade. Countless lives likely destroyed . . . all to make enough money to hopefully save the three (four) of theirs from the end. Objectively speaking, it seemed a strangely unbalanced tradeoff for the universe. But it wasn't a tradeoff that she was going to question further.

As long as they lived . . . Carol took a deep breath . . . that was all that mattered.

So she watched while Daryl pulled on his socks and boots, before tossed his leather bag and rifle over his shoulder. At that point he looked to be ready to go, but instead he went over to the front hall closet.

It was a door that Carol hadn't opened yet.

But when he opened it, inside she could see the standard 'front hall closet' type, stuff. Basically jackets for various seasons, and boots for various activities. But when Daryl pushed the jackets aside, there tucked into the shadows . . . the closet went pretty far under the stairs . . . in the kind of stand you'd usually see somebody keep umbrellas in (though the Dixon men didn't seem like the umbrella type) Daryl pulled out two well worn baseball bats.

He handed her the one that had the duct tape wrapped around the very top and the very bottom.

"You won't need it, but if you do," he murmured while coming around behind her to fix the grip in her hands, "you hold it like this."

Then he brought her arm back and up, until the top of the bat was at her shoulder.

"Then you swing," he continued quietly, moving her arm forward, "hard as you can, aimin' right for the head. And," he brought the bat down, so he could turn her around, "it don't matter that you got skinny arms, 'cuz this is Merle's bat, and he hollowed out the top and loaded it with old, pure copper, pennies, 'cuz it was better for him on his knee cappin' days."

Apparently noticing the look of dismay on her face at that news, Daryl tipped his head then.

"Yeah, I know that seems like a real lousy thing to do, and it is. But it's actually good for you sweetheart, because so as long you can make contact with the head with any kind of force, those things'll be knocked back on their asses, and that'll give you plenty of time to run."

Carol blinked and looked down at the weighted bat dangling from her fingertips.

"Really," she sputtered back in disbelief, "the pennies make that much of a difference?"

"Yep," he pulled the bat from her hands to demonstrate the swing again, "it's kinda like," he turned to the side, "if you were swinging a copper pipe," there was a whoosh through the air, "wrapped up in an inch of ash. I'm telling you sweetheart," he turned back to her with a firm nod, "it's a good weapon, that don't require no special skills. So I do want you to keep it with you whenever you go outside now. Even if it's just to the porch. That way if one of those walkers pops up, you'll have something to knock 'em back if they're too close for you to just straight up run. So," he tapped the top of the Louisville against the floor, "you take some practice swings here after I leave, that way you'll feel more confident when we go out later, that you could use it for real if you needed to. But," he gave her a knowing look, "that'd be the only time you need it this mornin' because . . . "

And she cut in.

"Because nobody's getting in the house," her eyes crinkled a bit as she gave him a small, tight smile, "right. I remember."

Then she leaned up to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"You be careful, hon," she whispered as she broke away.

"'Course sweetheart," he murmured back with a brush of his thumb along her cheek, "and I'll be back before you know it."

And then with a heavy sigh, he turned and picked up the hammer he'd left leaning against the door the night before, just in case they needed to make a speedy exit from the house. Which was what he was plannin' now. And once he'd made quick work of prying the nails out of the wood, he turned and handed the hammer over to Carol.

"You can put a couple nails back in if you want," he said with a shrug, "but I think regular locks, plus the chair, will work just fine for the short time I'll be gone. And I'll call you when I get there, and I'll call you on my way back, so just grab up the house phone if it rings. And it goes without sayin," his eyebrow inched up, "but you see any of those walkers out in the street, you call 911, then you call me. And if you see one close enough to the house to make you nervous, just take your bat, and lock yourself in my room with Sophia, 'til the cavalry gets here, okay?"

"Yep," she swallowed, "okay."

Then, realizing that he'd maybe just freaked Carol out a little bit more than she already was on baseline, Daryl made sure to give her a little smile . . . one that went all the way to his eyes . . . before he pulled her into a quick hug.

"Everything will be fine, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear, "I'm sure of it." Then he kissed her cheek, patted her back . . . and let her go.

That last one was hard.

But from there he turned around to do a peak through the peephole. And seein' nothing out there on the porch . . . which was exactly what he'd expected to see, nothing . . . he flipped back the locks, and slowly turned the knob.

Then he pulled the door back.

When he poked his head through the open space, the only thing he saw moving around in the front yard was a squirrel gatherin' up some nuts. And figurin' that was a real good sign that maybe the neighborhood actually was quiet . . . after all, the animals the night before had immediately scattered when Jack showed up by the lake . . . Daryl stepped out onto the porch.

Then he made a fast run for the truck.

It wasn't until he'd gotten inside, and had slammed the door shut, did he look back to see that the front door of the house was still open. But then he realized Carol was just waitin' to make sure he was safe before she locked up again. So he gave her wave . . . and she blew him a kiss.

Then she disappeared back inside the house.

For a second he just stared at that closed door, wishin' like hell he could just go back inside and stay there with her and Sophia. But that was a fool's wish. Because the only way to keep them alive for the duration, was to make this run. This run . . . he slipped the key into the ignition . . . and probably a hundred others by the time all this was done. But today, as he took a deep breath and turned that key, he knew he needed to just get through this first trip, and then they'd move on to the next.

One nightmarish bolt across town at a time.

So with that, he checked the mirrors just to make sure nothing had popped up around the truck in the last ten seconds . . . no . . . so he rolled backwards out into the street.

And after one last look up to the house . . . he took off down the road.

/*/*/*/*/

It took Daryl eight minutes to make the ten minute drive to the outskirts of town. It helped that the outskirts he was headin' towards, were the ones closest to his house. But Elmo Thompson, owner of the gun shop, was a rejected National Guardsman, (who'd also failed twice outta Army boot camp), slash doomsday prepper . . . a hobby that Daryl really couldn't scoff at anymore . . . so he'd setup both his shop, and his house, as close to the deep part of the forest, as the city permit people would let him go.

Basically he'd wanted to be as far away from crowds . . . even crowds the size of as you'd find in Blackburn . . . at all times.

Which worked out well for Daryl on that day, because he too was lookin' to avoid all other persons, as much as humanly possible. So he was mighty happy to pull into the unpaved parking lot of "Elmo's Guns, Guns, and Guns," blowing up a shitload of dust in the process, to see that there was only one truck already there in the lot.

And that one was unmistakably Elmo's.

It was four by four, full cab pickup, painted in green cammo colors, with a HUGE confederate flag decal covering over the whole back window, and yellow, ' _Don't Tread On Me'_ mud flaps hangin' over the front and back tires. That didn't even count all the NRA, TCOT, and NoBama, bumper stickers he had plastered all over the back. Even for this neck of the woods . . . Daryl slowly rolled to a stop . . . Elmo was about as low class redneck as they come. And the real unfortunate thing about that was, when it came to buyin' guns and ammunition, he was literally the only game in town.

You had to deal with him whether you thought he was a jackass or not.

So after Daryl had made his quick call back to the house . . . Carol answered on the first ring . . . to let his girl know that he'd gotten to the gun shop just fine, and the place was as deserted as he'd expected it would be that early in the day, he hung up the phone. Then he slipped the cell back into his pocket, and the satchel back up over his shoulder. And after a brief debate in his head . . . he left his shotgun on the seat. Because really, a fully loaded fifteen round Glock, plus the two spare cartridges he had for it in his satchel, should be more than sufficient to walk the ten steps to the front door of the gun shop. And he'd be coming out with a hell of lot more bullets than he was goin' in with, so no reason to weigh himself down for no reason.

He'd have shit enough to carry as it was.

And with daylight now startin' to burn . . . it was coming up on six fifteen . . . he slowly opened his door, and slid out onto the dirt. Then he stopped . . . and he listened.

But all he could hear were the birds.

It was that time of mornin' when they were all chirping about. And Elmo's lot was surrounded on three sides by nothing but forest, so birds were the normal thing to be hearing out there. And again, Daryl took a good sign that they were making their normal mornin' fuss. But thinking about it, and how little there was this far out on Rural Route Three . . . really just Elmo's home and business plus two other family houses, and one small farm . . . odds were good that it might actually still be a clear area. Because that was just four families that needed to still be well.

Praise Jeezus they were.

And with that, he pushed his door shut with a soft click, and started walking up to the shop. He was about three steps from the door, when he looked through the glass to see that Elmo was standing there on the other side.

He had a shotgun pointed at his head.

"You still yourself, Dixon?" Came the question muffled through the glass. And Daryl nodded, as he slowly raised his hands up.

"Yeah man," he called back, "can you say the same?"

For a second Elmo didn't answer, he was just staring at him with his head cocked slightly to the left. Finally he lowered the shotgun . . . and pushed the door open.

The little bell jingled.

"Ayup," he grumbled, "it's me. But you can't be too careful these days."

"No," Daryl dropped his arms down and put his hand out to catch the door, "no, you cannot." Then he gave him a look. "And I ain't got neither, but next customer, you might wanna ask about a fever or a headache too," he stepped over the threshold, "because those are the symptoms you gotta watch."

"Hmph," Elmo let out a grunt as he turned to walk back behind the counter. Good to know about the headache," he continued on, while laying his shotgun up against the wall, "hadn't heard that one."

Daryl's jaw twitched.

"Yeah well, trust me," he rolled his eyes, "it's a biggie." Then he slipped his hand inside his leather bag, and pulled out the sheet of notepaper that Carol had carefully printed out for this shopping trip. She even had a proper header on this one of, _'Guns and Ammunition,'_ and then below it, each caliber of bullet Daryl had said he'd wanted to get, and the exact number of cases he'd told her they'd needed for minimum survival. And after that, there was a dot, dot, dot . . . _ideal_. That's where she'd listed the full amount of cases he REALLY wanted to have just to make sure there asses were fully covered.

They really could not have too many bullets.

So when Daryl started slowly reading off his list, Elmo started quickly pulling out the boxes from the various cabinets. And as he'd planned that mornin' in bed, Daryl did opt to just ask for the minimum numbers from Elmo for now, with the plan to get the rest online later.

But once he had his six cases on the counter . . . that was about four thousand bullets and seven hundred shells . . . he added on a request for two brown leather holsters. A cross-draw and a hip, because if he had to be wearin' a firearm 24/7 now, it'd be nice if it wasn't constantly cuttin' into his gut.

After Elmo pulled those out of a drawer and slapped 'em down on the counter, Daryl finally skipped down to the names of the two guns Carol had printed out on the lower half of the page.

"All right," he bit his lip, "so last thing, I wanna put in for a Remington 870 with the pump action, and the best sniper rifle you got in stock. Price ain't an issue on that." He looked down to read over his ammo list again, "and I wanna pick 'em up in the three days."

"Eh, waitin' periods got suspended last night," Elmo grunted back as he started pulling his keys from his pocket, "I can give 'em to you right now."

And Daryl slowly lifted his head.

"Is that right?" His eyebrow quirked up, "anything else change?"

"Oh yeah," Elmo gave a fierce nod, "everything changed, man. Do nothin' Congress finally got off their sorry asses, and they've been passin' that emergency legislation, left and right. No more waitin' periods," he started tapping stuff on his fingers, "no more magazine restrictions, no more _stockpilin_ ' restrictions," he shook his head, "no restrictions period, really. It's all open now, freedom like the forefathers intended. And that Muslim president of theirs, he signed off on all of it." Then he tipped his head, looking over at Daryl kind of funny.

"Ain't you been watchin' the news?"

"Well, yeah," Daryl scoffed, "but it is hard to kinda keep up on _all_ of it, you know?"

"Hmph," Elmo grunted and shook his head, "ain't wrong about that. God dang end o'days are finally upon us. It's the Rapture is what it is. The righteous'll be going on up to see our Father in Heaven, while the sinners rot here on earth."

Though Daryl had some thoughts on that fool statement, while Elmo was turnin' to get the first of his guns out of the cases, he chose to keep them to himself. No need really to be pissin' off the bible thumper runnin' the gun shop, right after they'd discussed how the laws ain't for dick no more.

"So uh," he blinked to refocus on what was on display behind Elmo's back . . . basically a God damn armory, "okay, I guess as long as I'm here and the rules changed, I'll get a little more than I was planning. Um," he pointed to the long gun case on the wall, "three of those Model 700 Remingtons with the bolt action, and scope. And uh," he tapped his fingers on the counter, "one more of the Glock 26 just 'cuz why not, and uh, um . . ."

While Elmo moved to start gathering up the other guns he'd just asked for, Daryl's voice trailed off. Though his eyes continued to travel around the pistols and revolvers behind the glass in the lower cabinets, seein' if he was missing anything else they might need. But he was pretty sure they were set well enough to cover both him and Merle, whenever the hell his brother got out.

Or whenever the hell he could _get_ him out, was more the game probably.

So when Elmo walked over to get the Glock outta the next case, Daryl was about to say that was it. But then suddenly his attention caught on something on the lower shelf of the case right in front of him . . . and he stopped.

And stared.

"Hey, what's that one down there?" He tapped the glass on the far left corner, "on the bottom here?"

"One sec," Elmo muttered while he finished pulling out the three scoped Remingtons. After he'd laid those out on the adjacent counter, he went back and pulled the Colt sniper rifle from the lower cabinet.

Once he had that one laid out too, and all the long gun cabinets locked up again, he turned back around.

"Now what . . ."

And Daryl immediately tapped the corner of the glass case again.

"That. Third shelf."

"Oh," Elmo stooped down, jangling the keys as he moved to open up the case, "that's a Smith 9mm," he pulled the door back, "in Tiffany blue."

That's when he lifted the gun out of the display case, and slowly came back up to his feet.

He put the revolver down on the velvet cloth laid out in front of him.

"Supposed to be geared to the ladies," he continued with a shrug, "fancy color and all, so haven't sold but maybe half dozen around Christmas time, you know."

For a second Daryl just stared down at it.

"It is pretty," he murmured while reaching down to pick it up. Then he turned, and aimed the barrel towards the wall so he could check the sites.

Looked good.

So once he was satisfied it was up to the Smithie standards, and figurin' it would be a nice gun to get for Carol so she could start practice her shootin' . . . he was gonna just let her use a Glock, but this would at least be something pretty for her to have all for her own . . . he turned back and put it down on the counter.

"I'll take it," he tapped the grip, "and another of the hip holsters in black, plus two more boxes of the nine millimeters."

But then, noticing the funny look he was getting from bible thumpin' Elmo for his decision to buy the Tiffany blue gun, Daryl scowled a bit before adding with a roll of his eyes.

"I got a lady friend."

Not that it was any of Elmo's damn business whether the pretty gun was for him or not, but again, he did need this jackass to sell him a shitload of guns and ammo. And given the next closest gun shop was a town over, and a good thirty miles away, he could not afford to get called a "faggot" and told to fuck off.

Because that is exactly would Elmo would do.

"Ah," Elmo nodded knowingly, "okay then."

"Anyway," Daryl grunted as he started digging into his satchel for those envelopes of cash he'd packed before he'd left the house, "what's that gonna be? Like fifty six hundred?"

"Eh," Elmo's nose wrinkled as he finished ringing everything up, "actually with tax, it's uh," he punched in a few more numbers, "sixty two hundred, forty-three dollars," then his eyes shot over to his, "and seventy-three cents."

"Seventy-three cents," Daryl grumbled as he dropped the first envelope full of the pre-counted five grand down on the counter. Then he pulled another thirteen hundred dollars out of the second envelope, and dropped that down loose on the glass.

"Sixty three hundred even," he said with a tap of the loose cash.

And while Elmo started counting up his money, Daryl asked if he could borrow the dolly he could see sittin' there in the corner of the room. Elmo muttered back a disinterested, "sure," so Daryl went over and rolled it back to the counter.

Then he started loading up his boxes of ammunition.

They were both about half done with their respective tasks, when another thought came to Daryl.

He lifted his head up.

"You open 'til three, right?"

"Ayup," Elmo nodded as he started sliding the bills into the correct money slots in the register, "summer time, every day six to three as long as I'm in town. When things here finally tip though," he nodded slowly, "the wife and I are taking the kids and buggin' out west 'til the Lord sees fit to take us up."

"Right," Daryl gave a half nod like he had any fuckin' interest in Elmo's delusional long term Jesus plans . . . like that hateful motherfucker was gettin' pulled up in the Rapture, "yeah, okay, so uh," he looked down at the nearly half dozen guns he'd just purchased sitting there on the counter, and then back up to Elmo's stupid, greedy, face.

"So say I wanted to book some time on that uh," he gestured towards the door marked Private, "practice range I know you got downstairs. If I was to pay you a little extra, could you close up for that time I was in there?"

Seeing how Elmo's brow knitted up at that, Daryl let out a sigh.

"See, I wanna bring my lady friend back here, and let her get some practice shootin' in, but I don't want to have to worry about people coming in upstairs. 'Cuz you know," he tipped his head, "ain't safe to be around other people right now. And definitely not if you're down stuck in the basement, and they're upstairs blocking the door."

It took a second for Elmo's brain to catch up on that one. But finally his jaw twitched once, right before he gave a slow nod.

"For fifty bucks I could give you the range for thirty minutes, with the place sealed up. I'll just put the ' _Closed for Meal Break_ ' sign on the door, 'til you're done."

Even though Daryl knew fifty bucks was highway robbery for thirty minutes of galley time, he and his girls were back to beggar status. And once again, beggars could not be choosers in this world. Because thinkin' about giving Carol a gun she didn't know how to shoot, he realized how desperately he needed to find her a place to practice while they could still leave the house.

And that was that.

So once more he found himself bitin' back the comments he wanted to make, to just suck it up instead.

The story of his life.

"All right then," he gave a slow nod, "so can we do that for like uh," his hand scrubbed across his mouth as he considered all they had to do that day, "two o'clock? Does that work? And I wanna have a shitload of ammo ready for her, so we can do the whole thirty minutes of just shooting. So," he tapped one of the boxes in front of him, "can you add another two boxes of nine millimeter onto the tally, and then just leave them handy for when we come back?"

Two boxes would give them a hundred rounds of practice ammo. Even on a tight window like thirty minutes, a hundred bullets should be MORE than enough to get Carol to the middle of the target. Not like he was expecting her to be walkin' outta there like Annie Oakley doing trick shots, he just needed her to be able to have better than decent odds on hittin' on what she was aiming at.

If they could get halfway there on day one, he'd be happy enough.

"Ayup," Elmo nodded, as he made a note on the pad next to the register, "I can do that. So," he let out a grunt as he rapidly calculated the cost of two more boxes of ammo into the register, "looks like that's gonna be another," he squinted, "three hundred and thirty-nine, even."

So Daryl pulled out another stack of twenties and threw them down on the counter. Then just when he started to hoist up the first rifle strap up around his shoulder, Elmo said, "hold up."

Then he turned around, and started digging into one of the big storage drawers behind him.

After a few seconds he pulled out an oversized carry case for the long guns, made out of the heavy black canvas, not the hard plastic, so that way it could go up on a person's shoulder.

"Here," he dropped it down on the counter, "no charge."

"Hmm," Daryl hummed back, privately thinkin' this was the LEAST of the freebies he shoulda got droppin' like seven grand in five minutes, "thanks."

And while he moved to start loading his new guns up . . . God damn bag was gonna weigh a TON . . . Elmo turned around to tap another of the glass cases.

This one was on the far wall.

"Sure you don't wanna get one of these H&Ks? It's limey made, but," he nodded, "it's a quality weapon. I can throw in an adjuster kit, no charge, then you can do five hundred rounds a minute with it."

Daryl's brow knitted together.

"Yeah, no offense man," he paused for a second from his packing, to look up in confusion, "but why the FUCK am I gonna wanna to shoot off five hundred rounds a minute?"

And Elmo threw his hands up.

"Well obviously so you can SHRED those motherfuckers!" He sputtered back in disbelief.

It was a dumb thought, but on this one Daryl knew that Elmo just didn't know any better. So he shook his head.

"Naw," his lips pursed, "that's not gonna do jackshit but waste rounds. They'll just keep comin' at ya, no matter how much you tear 'em up. You gotta get 'em in the head." He raised his finger up to tap his forehead, "one shot up top, right here. That's what takes 'em down."

Elmo's eyebrow inched up.

"You bag one already?"

The question came out with a clear note of surprise, and what sounded a bit to Daryl like envy too. And feeling his temper start to spike again, but knowin' there was nothing that was gonna stop it from spilling over that time, his jaw clenched.

Tight.

"If by _bagged_ ," he spit back, "do you mean did I have to shoot a PERSON in the head who I've known for my _entire_ fuckin' life, just to keep him from tearing out my girlfriend's throat with his teeth, then yeah," he jammed the last of the rifles into the canvas duffel with a snort of disgust, "yeah, I _bagged_ one, last night."

Fuck man, he had never wanted to punch somebody SO hard in the face before, as he wanted to clock Elmo for asking him that question! And even NOW, when he looked up, Daryl could see in how that dipshit was starin' over kinda pissy like, that he didn't see NOTHIN' wrong with what he'd said!

Fuckin' douchebag.

And knowin' that not one good thing was gonna come from him staying there a minute longer . . . he'd likely get his range time taken away if he did, because he had a lot more words on the tip of his tongue that were lookin' to spill out . . . Daryl threw the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and dropped his foot down on the back of the dolly.

He started pushing it towards the door.

"Gonna leave this right inside here," he muttered by way of explanation over his shoulder, "while I dump the guns in the truck. Then I'll come back in and grab the rest."

Of course in the past, it wouldn't of made no sense leavin' the dolly inside while he went out. But clearly these days, you couldn't be goin' around outside with your arms full up and your body weighed down with hundreds of pounds of hardware.

Not when you might need to have a free hand to fire at any second.

And just when he was about to lean in and look out that glass door to see if the parking lot was still clear, he heard Elmo call out, "hold up." So Daryl turned to see what he was holdin' up for this time.

That's when he saw Elmo hurrying over to check the video feed behind the counter.

A second later he nodded.

"It's clear," then he moved to step out from behind the counter, "so I'll just push the dolly out for ya."

The last he added almost in an apologetic type tone, so Daryl was thinkin' maybe some part of that idiot's little lizard sized brain, had just processed how shootin' actual _people_ , and ones that you KNEW no less, was maybe not the same thing as running down a prize buck in the middle of October. For most, that wouldn't a really been somethin' they'd needed to think on, but little brains had little thoughts. And probably little dicks too.

But that was a separate point all together.

So Daryl let out another grunt, one that somewhat approximated a thank you, and then he pulled the Glock out from his brand new side holster where he'd slipped it in a couple minutes before. Which was when he had a sudden flash, back to bein' six years old and playin' cops and robbers with Jack and Jolie and a bunch of the other kids from the poor side of town. That was the last time he'd worn a holster on his hip. And his gun was just a toy plastic one back then. And of course he'd also always played at bein' one of the robbers. Never a cop.

Even at six he'd known his place in the world.

Funny the stuff that hits you at times. But Daryl didn't have no time to be thinkin' back on those days, so he shoved those thoughts aside. Then he sucked in a deep breath, and pushed the door back.

The bell jingled again.

So for a second he froze, eyeing the empty lot, and that open section of Rural Route Three, just to make sure they really were still alone. But everything looked good enough in the pinkish yellow light of the rising dawn, for him to continue on out into the dirt.

Really though, it was only about twenty after six. And even if there were other folks in town who'd heard all those sirens last night, and already were gettin' their own thoughts on stocking up on new guns and extra ammo, there were probably gonna be _real_ hesitant about going out so early in the mornin'. Which meant odds were good Daryl was gonna be the only one out and about . . . aside from the cops . . . until at least the sun was full up.

And that served him just fine.

So with Elmo's help, Daryl quickly loaded the cases of ammunition up and over onto the bed of the truck. Then with a final grunt, and a "see ya at two," he hurried around to whip open the driver's side door.

After he'd tossed the bag of unloaded guns over to the other side of the seat, he jumped inside himself, and jammed the key into the ignition. And though at that point Daryl was ready to just peel out, he did give Elmo the extra twenty seconds to get back inside first. The guy mighta been a small minded, homophobe, dickhead . . . but he also had two little kids. Besides that though, bein' an asshole wasn't no baseline reason to leave him out in the lot by himself pushing along a rattlin' old metal dolly that kept getting caught up in the dirt.

If there was a walker within a mile of that place, he might as well be ringin' a dinner bell.

But once Elmo's sorry ass had backed itself up inside the shop again, Daryl backed himself out in another cloud of swirling dust. Then with the sun just startin' to hit his eyes, he pulled back out onto Rural Route Three, and for the second time that day . . . sped off down the road.

* * *

 _A/N 2: Overall this was clearly a much quieter chapter than the last few, but personally, I needed a break from the insanity :) I've said it's not always as easy to crank out the action bits, so it worked well for both speed in update, and a bit of relaxation for my brain, to keep this one focused on them mostly still in their nice safe lockdown mode. And also, this story is clearly as much a love story for their little family unit, as it is a story outlining the early days of the ZA. So even though "outside" is now an unequivocally dangerous place, from time to time we will continue to take a breather and just let them be cuddled up inside and doing the bonding/domestic stuff, because that's just as important here to the story._

 _And once again, without a Merle around to make all the decisions, I think 'leader Daryl' who started to develop in season 2, would have stepped up early and really would be thinking things through on how to be responsible for his ladies. Whereas in my mind for canon, I see Merle and Daryl in their house with Merle just drinking and smoking, and yelling at the TV, and then him making Daryl go out to kill walkers for sport, before the town finally got too overrun. So then he dragged him off with the dumbass idea of setting up in the camps of other survivors, and ripping them off. But here, with Carol and Daryl together without their asshole family members, they evolve much earlier into the smartest versions of themselves. And I do believe Daryl buying her a "pretty gun" would in his mind, be a romantic, apocalyptic, gesture :) And so you know I do research my weapons as best as I can, and there really is a 9 mm S &W in Tiffany blue. For the ladies :)_

 _And yes, it was weird in the life imitating art way, that I already had written this scene (and it was time to insert it in the story) where Elmo tells Daryl that all the gun control laws have been repealed in emergency Congressional legislation, at the same time in RL the Democrats were doing their sit-in for a vote on closing the loopholes. Yeah, sometimes timing is a weird thing. But if we WERE getting overrun by zombies, they'd definitely be passing emergency legislation going the OTHER way! The, 'hey, countries are falling like dominoes, if we don't let our people have immediate access to ALL the weapons to fight back against the zombie hordes, we're going under too,' plan. As a bleeding heart, communist, yankee, (aka, Blue State Democrat) this is the only scenario where I can sign off on the hail Mary pass of 'guns for everyone!'_

 _I also wish I could say that Elmo was just a stereotype of a redneck, but if you live in the south, you've met an Elmo or two. They all have "Trump" stickers slapped on next to their confederate flags right now. Ayup :)_

 _Yes, I did give Daryl an archery trophy there on his dresser, and there will be a little back story coming with it._

 _Also, you see Carol's weapons and combat training will be starting WAY ahead of schedule! But there is no logical reason that Daryl would hold back on any of that in this scenario. And given this is a total AU reboot, and the incredible influence they had on one another's development in canon, I didn't want to lose the opportunity of letting Carol's strength blossom in a totally new way. I pointed out some chapters back, that with this being a version of her that LEFT Ed, and stayed away, it had already put her ahead of the game in personal growth. And having a man who supports her, and believes in her, and has said flat out how he needs HER help to get through this crisis, has made this a crucial jumping off point for things to go a new way for her character. Like her just having the balls to stay home alone with Sophia, while she practices swinging Merle's illegal 'knee capping' baseball bat. Scared jumpy Carol from the first half of season one, wouldn't have been up for that. And I also have a plan related to Sophia's arc that I think you all will really, really like. I don't want to spoil it, and I'd be surprised if anybody guesses it :) but I'm super excited for when we get there, and I can finally write the note on it! Ha, ha!_

 _Side point to Carol getting her first gun, it actually bothered me a little (a VERY little, not looking for faux Twitter'esque outrage here) that we didn't see any of the women in our initial group coming into things with more capabilities. Andrea was trying, but she clearly wasn't being taken seriously because she really wasn't very good. And you have to wonder, at least three to four weeks into total chaos with no 'alpha men' to protect her and Amy (Dale doesn't count, especially given how they met after the ZA too) how she wasn't at least a LITTLE bit better at looking after herself. Her and Amy both, really. Yeah, once they got to the camp, everybody mostly fell into their old fashioned gender roles but Andrea and Jacqui WERE going on runs. And there was a time before that when they were alone, and somehow they survived. It's just one of those itchy things in my brain, where in a 'real world scenario,' you know Andrea would have had enough practice killing walkers to at the very least know how to work the damn safety so she can shoot the f'ing gun. Because when failure means getting eaten alive, that just seems like a REAL fast learning curve :) I also think (in that random way you consider the lives of fake characters :)) that if Rick hadn't been all coma'tized, that he would've made sure from the beginning that Lori was better able to look after herself and Carl. But I digress to somebody else's AU :)_

 _That's all folks! Thanks again everyone, and I think Cedar Forest might be our next update._


	20. A Man, And A Half Dozen Plans

**Author's Note** : Hi howdy, kids! If you think I just disappeared, I did not :) If you only follow me here on , you might not be aware that I've actually been posting a story over exclusively on the Nine Lives site because that's the only place it can go. It's a "McReedus" fic, if you have any interest in reading it. The pairing's a first for me, but it's turned out to be pretty fun to write, and some other folks seem to like it :) Melissa has a stalker! And it's only a couple of chapters from done, which is nice. And I started that up because my regular Caryl muse took a short vacation, but she finally dragged her steamer trunk home this past week, and handed me this. And if you are reading the McReedus story, that's still chugging along too. Both muses are (currently) happily sharing the same head space. So many voices in there! :)

But here, we're picking up shortly after we left. And we are spending some time outside the Dixon place, so for a refresher, I reposted the house pic on the Tumbler post.

* * *

 _Thursday Morning_

 _Day 7_

 **A Man, And A Half Dozen Plans**

Daryl was about three quarters of the way home when his phone started to ring. And for just a split second, when he was fumbling to get it out of his pocket, he had a panic attack thinking it was Carol callin' to say something had happened at the house. But then he saw the number, and realized it wasn't Carol.

It was Jolene.

And a quick check of the time showed him it was six twenty-seven am, so she was actually calling right on their agreed upon time. Ten seconds later he had the phone to his ear, and was getting an update on what had happened overnight around town. It turned out that they'd put down eight more walkers beyond the ones that Daryl had already known about. Not to mention Jack's wife Theresa, Miss Evelyn, Shawna Stevenson (Irene Stetson's roommate), Dickie Barnes (an old timer who cleaned up roadkill around town), and all five members of the Tanner family . . . the Tanner house apparently had been a bloodbath when Pat McClellan arrived to check on the twins for not showing at work . . . were all missing and, presumed from the mess left behind at their homes or vehicles, to be dead and walking.

All of that was horrible news, because that was almost a full two dozen townspeople already known dead within just a day. But hearing about the Tanners was the real fucking kick in the gut.

Because Daryl remembered that just after he'd left Jack and Theresa's place two days earlier, that he'd seen Linda Tanner, and her little three year old, Lettie, digging out in their front garden. Lettie in her teensy sized bib overalls and big floppy sun hat to match her mama's, had even smiled and waved to the truck as he drove by.

He'd given her a honk back.

So now that poor baby, not to mention all of her kin, had been turned into those horrible things. And by the sounds of it, that there had been an attack and not a period of sickness, that meant it was likely Jack or Theresa (being the closest infected neighbors) had been responsible for the first bite. And even though Daryl didn't really understand the timing on these things, when he asked Jolene if there had been gardening supplies out in the yard, she'd said yeah, how'd you know that. So that meant it was likely Linda and Lettie had been attacked VERY shortly after he and Sophia had left the farm. And he knew Jack had still been normal then . . . but Theresa had been unwell.

And shit if they hadn't seen her come out on the porch when they were leavin'.

That whole image now in his head, of her standin' there alone . . . after Jack had gone in to check on her . . . was now making Daryl's skin fuckin' crawl down his back. Because that meant he and Sophia had been IN THE HOUSE with her after she'd turned! _Those_ were all the crazy, ass creepy noises they'd heard upstairs.

Yeah, that was a memory that was going to stay crystal clear in his head for a while.

So as he drove along with that shit rollin' around in the back of his brain, he listened to Jolie tellin' him how the sheriff was planning on organizing a focused search that morning to try and find the known walkers, with the hopes that maybe they could put be down before anybody else got bit.

By Daryl's thoughts, it was unlikely that with NINE walkers out there, that none of them hadn't _already_ taken a bite out of somebody else. But he could take no fault with the idea of a search party to deal with the known threat.

Not as long as they were still addressing the unknown as well.

The bottom line was though, the cops were down to only one or two calls an hour now, rather than the five or six they were running up until almost three am. Which Jolene said meant that things had definitely quieted down enough that she could do the escort to the biddies' house with them, within the hour. She said the sheriff was actually letting them all take staggered eight to ten hour breaks (dependin' on if things _stayed_ quiet in the daytime) to rest up for everyone to work overnight again. Because even with the auxiliary deputies being called up today to help out, they were expecting things to be a real nightmare come sundown. So Jolie said that she'd put in for the first break starting at seven, and that meant barring her gettin' held up running out, that she'd be over at his place no later than quarter past.

Which was great, but before she dropped off the line, Daryl made sure to cut in to tell her about Carol's concerns regardin' the biddies' meal program, and all those old folks starving. To which Jolene immediate cut back with an, "oh shit!" which made it clear that point had completely slipped _her_ mind, as much as it had his. But then Daryl shared the idea of her people starting their house to house searches with the folks on the biddies' meal list, and then just taking all of the supplies the biddies had stockpiled, and passin' them out at the same time. And Jolene liked that.

She liked it quite a bit.

Enough actually, that she said she'd see if she could get Greg or Colette to meet them at the yellow house with another vehicle, so they could load up as much of the food as possible on that first trip, and bring it back to the station. Because they weren't gonna have time to be running back and forth there. Not to mention the worry about Miss Evelyn potentially poppin' up every time they went down Lindy Street.

That was not a fun thought for anyone.

So by the time he was pullin' into his driveway, Daryl had confirmed with Jolene a set meetup time of seven-fifteen a.m., which was about forty plus minutes off. And at first Jolie was thinking about just coming by with the SUV to pick them all up . . . what with Carol and Sophia not having that much to carry out . . . but then Daryl pointed out that if she really wanted to get as much of the food out of that house as possible . . . and there bein' safety in well-armed numbers . . . how it might be best if he brought his truck along too. That way with three vehicles, they'd definitely be able to load up everything in one run.

So that was how they left it.

She'd still swing by to ride over with them, just to make sure they got there at the same time, but they'd drive separate. By that point Daryl was already spinning out in his head how quick they could get that run done . . . because he was gonna have to stop by the sheriff's station too to drop off the food they gathered . . . so he could THEN move on to his _third_ scheduled trip of the day.

The Costco one.

That wasn't even countin' if he tried to make a sideline to the hardware store to get some plywood for the windows. Yeah, he had a decent amount of wood scraps in the garage, but not near enough to do less than a half ass job of sealing the place up. Not to mention, on the back to the house before Jolene called, he'd been thinkin' about Mr. Charles and Mrs. Loretta and how he needed to take a little responsibility for their place too.

A _very_ little.

Because FUCK if he didn't have his hands full already with just himself, his ladies, and Merle . . . but he'd been doing the little things to help out that couple for so long now, it just seemed wrong to put his head down and pretend like they'd be fine gettin' through this all on their own.

'Cuz clearly that was bullshit thinkin' right there.

So his thought was, for his own peace of mind, that he'd sit 'em down and give 'em the what's what that they needed to know, and after that he'd seal up their downstairs windows like he was plannin' to do for his own place. Then as long as he was picking up bulk supplies anyway, he'd just get a couple extra cases of water, some batteries, and protein bars, to drop off for them. Beyond that, he knew he was gonna have to just accept that he couldn't save everybody all on his own. But Mrs. Loretta and Mr. Charles had been real good to him, so he wanted to make sure they had at least some chance beyond even.

And he knew if he ignored them they'd have no chance at all.

So that visit was on his list for last things to do today/first things to do tomorrow, dependin' on how the day actually went. But really . . . he let out a heavy sigh as he reached over to pick up the bag of guns . . . the sooner the better.

That was his mantra at the moment.

So with that, and nothing around his yard to indicate there'd been any visitors there since he'd been gone . . . and Carol said she hadn't seen nothing worrisome out the windows . . . he made a quick re-dial back to the house line.

As he expected, his girl answered up on the first ring, so he told her he was out front . . . and she said she'd meet him on the porch. And with that, he jammed the phone back into his pocket, grabbed up his 'free from the gas station' Exxon travel mug, and pushed his door open.

The hinges squeaked.

Not real loud, but there was something about that faint little scritchy sound, which he'd been living with just fine forever, that really bugged the crap out of him now. And it was a normal sound, not even a rackety one, but he actually was thinking about shootin' some WD40 down inside, just to get things as quiet as he could. Because it was startin' to seem like a loudspeaker announcement or somethin', every time he climbed out of the truck. Like, ' _oh yeah, here I am motherfuckers! Come and get me!'_

And considering the motherfuckers out there, that was really an announcement he could do without making!

But seeing the front door slowly swing back, right before Carol poked first her new bat (good girl) and then her head out . . . he was at least refocused on the day.

"Hey sweetheart," he called over while he slipped the bag of guns up onto his shoulder and slid out of the truck.

"Hi hon," she answered with a relieved smile and a tap of the bat against her shoulder, "everything still okay?"

"Yeah," he gave a sharp nod as he started hurrying the thirteen or so paces from the truck, over the grass, and up to the steps of the porch, "we're still good. And I talked to Jolene, she's gonna meet us in about forty minutes. So," he leaned over and put down his mug on the steps, before he began to lower the bag of weapons down to the outer plank on the edge of the porch, "if you can just drag this stuff up towards the door like assembly line," he let the bag's strap slip from his shoulder, "I'll carry it in," he shot her a look, "'cuz it's heavy as shit."

Then he pulled his satchel over his head, and dropped that down too.

Before he'd even finished letting that go, Carol was already leanin' down to snatch up the strap of the gun case. Which she did just fine, but then she tried to give the bag a tug, and that did not go so well.

"Oh my _God,_ " she let out on a groan as she stumbled a bit, "how did you LIFT this?!"

Yes, she'd known that he was strong, but this was like a bag of CEMENT! And he'd just tossed it down like it was nothing.

Though when she shot him a look, he just shrugged and looked back out towards the neighborhood, so she started dragging the canvas along the worn floorboards . . . one halting half inch at a time.

Daryl's jaw twitched as he stared over into the tall shrubbery in front of the Burton place across the street. Then he muttered, more to himself than Carol, "I really hope the quiet lasts 'til we can get most of this shit done."

It'd be great if sunup/sundown really was the dividing marker on walker activity, but he knew that wasn't the case. There definitely did seem to be some solid evidence though, for the argument that the walkers at least got _quieter_ in the daytime. And thinkin' about those nine townsfolk (at least) who were out there wandering somewhere in the woods, or through somebody's backyards, really did give him pause. Because only God knew what kind of mischief they could be gettin' up to right now. And the idea of running across that little one as a walker, sweet Lettie with those big brown eyes and the happy giggle, good Christ . . . he let out a heavy breath . . . that tore him up.

Tore him up enough actually, that he didn't realize he'd gotten completely distracted . . . when distractions were the one thing that could kill you outside . . . until Carol called out to him with a sharp, " _hon._ "

And his head snapped around to see her jerking her chin.

"The truck, honey," she shot him a hard, tight smile as she gave the bag another tug, "you need to be moving quickly, so you're not somebody else's breakfast, remember?"

"Ah shit," he muttered with a hard blink and a shake of his head, "I'm sorry sweetheart." He shot another quick look around to the street to make sure he hadn't missed anything, "but something Jolene told me on the phone popped in my head, and it fucked me up for a second."

"Yeah well," Carol let out on another grunt as she kept pulling the duffel the last two feet towards the door, "you can tell me about it after we get inside."

"Yep, right, right," he murmured while taking off on a jog towards the bed of the truck, because she could not have been more right. So when he got back to the truck, he started grabbin' up the cases of ammunition, two at a time. Yeah, they were also heavy as shit . . . he turned around . . . but not near so heavy as the guns.

So with a faint grunt . . . he was gonna get a solid workout in today . . . he ran back across the yard, and dumped those rough edged boxes out on the middle step. And seeing how Carol had finally gotten her two hundred plus pound bag of guns up to the door . . . and was now reachin' out to grab his satchel and coffee mug . . . he spun on his heel, and made for the truck again.

Because they needed to get this unloadin' shit done right quick.

The next time he spun around, again with his arms full and aching, he saw Carol hefting one of the ammo boxes up to her chest.

"Sweetheart, that's . . ."

But she cut him off with a grunt of, "no heavier than Sophia," as she turned and dropped it . . . with a thud . . . up on the porch proper. And he threw a quick look over his shoulder at that, but the sound didn't really carry.

It was kind of deadened by the weight.

So that's how they got the rest of the ammo emptied out. With him haulin' everything to at least the halfway point on the steps, and then her swinging it all up and giving it a hard shove closer towards the door.

By the time he was climbing up the stairs with the last box in his arms, she was shoving the last one before that, along with her foot.

"Careful of splinters," he murmured with a look over his shoulder . . . he'd thought he'd heard a car, "the cases are a little rough." His eyes snapped back to Carol pulling open the screen door, "in case you didn't notice."

"Oh, I noticed," she sighed and waved one arm at him over her shoulder, "I got three splinters in my forearm." Then she knocked the regular door back with her hip, "I hope you have some tweezers."

"Yep," he answered with a bite of his lip, "I'll take care of it, sweetheart."

This was the second day in a row that he was gonna be tweezin' something out of her flesh that wasn't supposed to be there. And that was a harsh reminder of how easy it was to get hurt just on the day to day. So they absolutely needed to get a REALLY good first aid kit today, because if something worse happened to one of them beyond a few splinters or shards of glass, they weren't going to have access to real doctors or hospitals anymore.

They might technically still be open right now, but Jesus knew Daryl wouldn't wanna be stuck IN one, for anything!

So he was hoping they'd have some kind of fancy ass kit at Costco, maybe like an industrial grade one or something that had real hospital level medical supplies. But if not, he was thinkin' maybe when they ordered the ammo, they could go to that Amazon site that he'd seen advertised so much, and see what they could find there for medical stuff. Because from what he'd heard, they sold everything at that place.

And almost all for overnight delivery too.

It was a thought that kept rattlin' around in his head . . . even while he kept throwing looks over his shoulder . . . while he and Carol finished haulin' everything inside the house. Once they were done though, he pulled the first the screen door shut, and then the big door.

Then he set the deadbolts.

After doing that, even while he was still turnin' around, he found that Carol was already throwin' her arms up and around his neck. His eyes crinkled as he pulled her to his chest. Because God if that woman didn't always know EXACTLY what he needed!

And after they just held each other for a minute, he murmured in her ear. "Told ya, it'd be a milk run."

She let out a snort against his shoulder.

"You didn't actually _call_ it a milk run, hon, but yes," she kissed his neck, "you were right that all was well here while you were gone."

Then she leaned back to give him a little smile.

"I actually got a fast shower in too. I just waited until you'd called to say you were there safe, then I took the cordless into the bathroom with me, and jumped under the spray."

Daryl's lip quirked up.

"Thought I smelled the Irish Spring."

Seeing her lips twitch, he pulled her to his chest again, and rubbed his hand down her side.

"I'll be happy when we get your apple shampoo back," he whispered, "I love that smell on you."

That and the Milk and Honey body wash. It was all just perfect on her, and it did kinda suck (on the VERY low end of the scale of the things that were gonna suck from now on) how that was one more thing that was gonna go away. Because it was unlikely they'd find a lifetime's supply of that shit at Costco. And even if they could by some miracle find one or the other of those pretty smells there, that would only cover them for as long as they could shower on the regular.

And God only knew how long running water was gonna last.

Still though, listenin' to Carol whisper back that she used so little of the shampoo at a time, that it should last her a long while, made him feel good. Again, it was like she knew exactly what he was thinking. And even with something little like this, that was a comfort.

Because the more they were in sync, the better.

And before they did anything else, he slipped his arm down around her waist, and walked her out to the kitchen to get those splinters out of her forearm. He actually kept a pair of tweezers out there in the junk drawer, just because splinters were one thing he picked up ALL the damn time doing the work he did. So after he'd dug the tweezers out, and gave 'em a good wash with some hot, soapy water . . . which was more than he'd usually do for himself . . . he dug those three slivers of wood out of Carol's flesh. After that, he washed the little pinpricks of blood left on her skin, cleaned the tweezers again, and tossed them back in the drawer.

And while they were doing all that, to keep busy, he explained to Carol what he'd learned from Elmo about all the new federal laws that had just been passed, and that's why he'd come back with nearly three hundred pounds worth of weapons. Because he'd figured the more the merry on that point. And Carol said that was good thinking.

That she would've bought the extra guns too.

So again, they were on the same page. Still, he could tell that there was also clearly something about what he'd said that had bothered her too. That was even though to his mindset, the overall news in general that he'd shared, was sorta of the neutral nature.

At least compared to all the rest of the shit goin'.

But as he was pushing the drawer shut, he noticed how she was staring at the floor, and chewing on her lip. So he reached over and touched her jaw.

"What's the matter?"

She tipped her head back.

"It's just," she sighed, "I was thinking about Congress and the President signing off on all of those new laws. And how that's them," her jaw twitched, "how that's _everybody_ in charge, just giving up. Because they're basically telling us flat out now, we can't save you from what's coming," her voice faded, "you have to save yourselves."

For a second Daryl just looked down at her, thinking about what she'd said, but then his jaw twitched.

"I hadn't thought about it like that before," he answered with a slow nod of agreement, "but you're right. It is an announcement of sorts that they know it's already gotten too far away from them. But sweetheart," he continued gently, with a squeeze of her shoulder, "we did already kinda know we were gonna be all on our own here, didn't we? We did talk about it last night."

"Yeah," she gave him a sad smile, "but it's still just a really crappy thing to get confirmation of that from the President himself."

"Hmm," he hummed, "this is true."

Then, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, or at least nothing that would make her feel better, he leaned down to give her a kiss.

When he broke away, her eyes crinkled a bit as she patted his chest.

"Thanks."

"Don't know what you're thankin' me for," he joked back with a faint grin, "I'm just grateful you let me do that now."

And hearing her let out a little chuckle at that, before she leaned up to smack her lips to his one more time, made him feel good. Really the _only_ thing that made him feel anything good any more, was her. Her and Sophia. If they weren't there with him, if they'd never met, he honestly had no idea how hard he'd even be trying to prepare for this shit. Because it was hard to care about killin' yourself to get through one hell, just for the privilege in livin' in another, when you literally had nothing going to make any of that sufferin' worthwhile.

So as he slipped his arm back around Carol's shoulders, and started walkin' them back to the front hall, he knew that was all the more reason he had to do EVERYTHING in his power to keep his girls safe. Because he didn't know what the hell he'd do with himself if something happened to them.

The only reason he'd have left to fight would be for Merle.

And yeah he did love his brother, but it was a dutiful kind of love. The kind you had for someone just 'cuz you were kin, and shared a history. But when it came down to it, comparing how Carol treated him . . . with kindness and respect . . . to how Merle did . . . like shit . . . Daryl had started to wonder if his brother even actually loved him back. And that was a hard thing to admit to himself, but there it was.

A real ugly truth.

Still, he knew there was no point in gettin' bogged down in thoughts like that, not when all they'd do was put a fresh knot of sickness in his belly. And he had enough snakes curled up in there already. So as he and Carol came back out to the hall, walkin' up on the supplies they'd carried into the house, Daryl just put his focus on gettin' that shit moved off into the living room, so they'd have space for the rest of the stuff they'd be bringing back later.

They could just sort the whole big mess out this afternoon.

And as he was lugging over the first two cases of nine millimeter bullets, he heard Carol . . . who he'd told to just leave the boxes be for him to move, so she didn't get another splinter . . . clear her throat.

She was standing over by the TV that she'd left on mute.

"So, hon," she asked softly while folding her arms up around her chest, "were you able to get everything on the list?"

"Uh," Daryl looked down at the top of the case in his arms, and bit his lip, "well, I left with what I wanted to leave with, but," he looked back over at her with a faint wrinkle in his nose, "I did make a purposeful change in plans that I forgot to tell you about before I left."

So while he continued on with relocating their guns and ammo from the hall to the far corner of the living room, he started to explain to her about feelin' guilty cleaning out so much of the local supply of ammunition, and how he'd figured instead of being a schmuck about the whole thing, he could just get the basics . . . which is what he'd done . . . and then they could use the laptop at the biddies to order the rest of what they needed. Carol did agree that was a good plan . . . and she also said that it was really sweet of him to still be thinking of what was best for his neighbors at a time like this. Then she made a solid point though, (one that had slipped his mind), in asking him if Cash on Delivery, was something they were gonna to be able to do for a huge order like that. So that's when Daryl added one more stop onto their list of errands for the day.

The bank.

Fortunately he had a debit/credit card through one of the two local ones, and he had about sixteen hundred dollars in there. Now of course that wasn't near enough for all they needed to order, but he figured if he swung by the drive up ATM window, he could (safely) deposit another five grand in there. And 'cuz that would go in as cash, they could use it right away. Then they'd just have to order the guns off that card.

So, yeah, one problem solved.

The only thing was, they had to go add the money to the account _before_ he ordered the guns. So that was gonna have to be a detour on the way to the biddies. Not a terribly big one, but still as he dragged the duffel full of weapons into the living room, he knew it was one more thing to fit in. And almost more important, it was something else he needed to mention to Jolene before she showed up.

Because the last thing he wanted to do was mess up _her_ schedule for the day when she only had a few hours off.

So after he'd dropped the duffel down by the window, he did a quick 'arms over head' stretch . . . because his arms were fuckin' killing him . . . before he slipped his phone from his pocket, and hit the re-dial back to Jolene's cell.

After the second ring she answered with a "what's up?" and he gave her a quick update on the other errand he now needed to take care of first thing. And she said that was a good point actually about doing a bank run.

Though she and Greg had been thinking about starting to pull cash _out_ , because they were expecting that the economy would probably begin to collapse over the next week.

And Daryl couldn't disagree that gettin' their money out before that happened was a good thought for them . . . one that didn't really apply to him and Carol though because they had a shitload of cash on hand already . . . so what he and Jolie decided to do instead of her meeting them at the house, was to meet in the bank parking lot instead. They left the meet time of seven fifteen the same . . . which was still twenty-seven minutes out . . . and Jolie said that she'd spread the word to the others who were meeting them at the biddies (and that was her husband, Greg and the sheriff's wife, Tanya), that they might be a few minutes late. Which wasn't really an issue for anyone, because it was going to take everyone longer to pack up the food, than it would for Carol and Sophia to pack up their bags.

So with that new shit all taken care of, or at least folded in to their day, Daryl said his, "see you soon, Jolie," and slipped the phone down from his ear, hit the button, and put it back into his pocket.

Then he let out a heavy breath as he walked over and pulled Carol . . . who had just been watching him pace around while he talked to Jolene . . . into another hug. And he did that because he really couldn't get enough of those good tight hugs of hers.

Especially with the day they had coming.

"Okay," he murmured with a kiss to her temple, "Jolie's gonna meet us at the bank, and we need to leave in about fifteen minutes or so, because we can't drive as fast with other people out, as we did last night."

"Oh God," she moaned with a rub of her nose against his chest, "I hate so much the idea of having to stop at stop signs, and see people walking down the street. I mean," she tipped her head back, "what if we see one of these walkers coming up on someone? What are we supposed to do?"

"Well," his brow darkened as he bit his lip, "we couldn't just watch somebody get attacked, that's for sure. I mean," he rolled his eyes thinking over the other attacks they'd already seen, "not _now_ that we know how to stop it, that is. So I guess I'd have to shoot it. Really, if we see any of those walkers, even if they're just standing on the side of the road, we can't leave them roaming, so I'd have to get involved no matter what. That does remind me though," his hand slid down from her side to her hip, "I bought you a present."

And as he let her go, and turned to walk over to the big black bag, she murmured back in surprise, "a present? What is it?"

"One sec," Daryl mumbled as he dug around underneath the loose stack of rifles. But then after a few more seconds, from the bottom of the carry case, he pulled out the Tiffany blue gun.

And with it still down by his side, he went back and walked Carol over to the couch. He sat her down on the end cushion, and himself in the middle.

Then he placed the pistol down in front of her on the coffee table.

Seeing her eyes widen with a bit of bewilderment, he gave her a faint smile.

"See," he bit his lip, "I knew we'd have to start shooting lessons as soon possible anyway, and FYI, I actually booked us some range time this afternoon to do that, but I was just gonna give you one of the Glocks for your personal gun. But then," his eyes dropped down to the table as he let out a sigh, "well, I saw this Smithie in the Tiffany Blue, and it's a good gun, and I thought you might like it better than the standard Glock. You know," he shrugged, "the Smithie bein' a pretty color and all." His lip quirked up, "it kinda matches that nice dress you had on."

Curious enough, after he told Carol his reasonin' for giving her the Smith & Wesson rather than the Glock, he saw her eyes start to water. Then she looked back down at the pistol, before she slowly reached out to run her index finger along the colored grip.

"Thank you," she whispered as her eyes snapped back up to this. And seeing that the tears had pooled up, and one was startin' to slip over, he reached over to cup her cheek.

"Sweetheart," he asked worriedly, "why you cryin'? Are you worried about having to carry a gun? Because I know you might have some bad associations with them and Ed, but you really do need one for protection now."

"No, it's not that," she sniffled with a sad smile, "I knew the shooting practice was coming, and I want to be able to help you keep us all safe so I'm glad for that even with the uh," she rolled her eyes and sniffed again, "Ed stuff in the background."

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he tipped his head in confusion, "I don't understand. What is it then that's makin' you cry?"

"What it _is_ ," she kind of half laughed, half choked out on a sob, "is that we're literally planning for the end of the world, and you're still here thinking about buying me pretty things."

"Well," he bit his lip, still unsure of what was driving her tears at that moment . . . the crying was REALLY throwing him, "I just figured if you had to get used to carryin', that maybe it would make it a little easier on ya, if it was something nice."

"Yeah, hon," her voice broke, "I know exactly why you bought it," she choked down another sob, "it's because you thought it would make me happy!"

It was still too soon to say the L word, but good GOD if that man didn't push EVERY button she had! He went out and bought her a pretty blue gun, to match her one nice dress, so she could shoot undead, FLESH EATING monsters! It was such a perfectly Daryl thing to do.

And so ridiculously romantic in such a twisted way.

But it was his way . . . and she loved that his mind worked like that. So as he brushed the tears from her cheek with a nervous smile . . . she could tell that he didn't know if she was happy crying, or sad . . . she reached out to catch the scruff of his shirt in her fist.

Then she pulled him in for a hard, deep, kiss.

And when she finally broke away, with both of them slightly breathless . . . and him licking away the spittle on the corner of his lip . . . she made sure to give him a BRILLIANT smile.

One that he couldn't mistake for anything but joy.

"Hon, I _love_ my Smithie in the Tiffany Blue! And thank you," she continued on with a brush of her thumb along his lower lip, "for continuing to be the sweetest, most thoughtful man I have ever met, even with hell rising up all around us."

For a moment Daryl just looked back at her, like he was processing all that she'd just said, and then he reached over to cup her jaw.

"I just wanted you to able to keep some kind of sparkle in your days," he answered softly, "because the days are gonna be dark. But like I said last night, we need to make some kind of life too, best we can. So if there's something you want, Carol," he gave her a look, "even if you think it's not a necessary thing, you tell me now while there's still time to get it."

Carol looked down, and then took in a slow breath as she looked back up.

"The books," she answered quiety, "the ones in our room at the biddies. If you don't think anybody would mind, I'd like to pack them all up, and take them back here with us."

Daryl's expression softened.

"I'm sure nobody would mind if we did that sweetheart, but," his eyebrow quirked up, "are you sure that you really want all of them? Because uh," his brow wrinkled as he thought back to the overflowing shelves, "well, I think that was like four dozen or so books wasn't it? And I'd need to figure out some way to load 'em up."

The question made Carol's eyes start to burn again.

"Yeah," she whispered, "it's at least four dozen, and I do want all of them. Even the ones I might not have ever had an interest in otherwise. Because," her eyes started to water, "well, I'm just worried about Sophia's whole education having just ended with the fourth grade."

As hard as she was trying to keep it together for this conversation, still, her voice broke there at the end. But this had been something that had been weighing on her mind since Daryl had been gone and she'd been watching the news there all alone. There had been a whole segment on CNN talking about how the "flu" was spreading so fast now, that in most of the larger American cities, both the public schools, and the majority of the colleges, had already been shut down indefinitely. And Carol had realized something then that hadn't really hit her the night before.

School was out permanently now.

At least the kind of schooling that she'd grown up with, and had taken for granted always would be. Because God, how could you NOT take it for granted?! It just WAS!

But not anymore.

Not as long as the infection was out there. So those closures, which were just a blip in a newscast filled with so much violence and death, were in their own quiet way, the real signal of the end of civilization. Because no more schools meant no more doctors, or nurses, or teachers . . . engineers. Architects. The list went on and on. All of that knowledge that had taken the human race literally a _millennia_ to gather up and write down . . . it was all going to be lost with the dead and locked away in those books that would be gathering dust. A tear started to slide down her cheek.

So how was her daughter ever going to become anything, when there would be nothing left to be?

And as Carol started to cry about this future for her girl, that she believed had already been lost, she felt Daryl's thumb brushing along her cheek, wiping her tears away.

"Now come on sweetheart," he murmured, "you can't think it all ends for her with the fourth grade. Because no matter what else we're doin', we'll make sure she keeps learning. People have been home schooling around here for as long as I can remember. You know," he gave her a shrug as his hand fell from her cheek to catch her fingers, "mostly religious reasons and whatnot. The parents don't like evolution or sex ed. or whatever silly thing they think their kids shouldn't be learning, even though they should. And somehow those kids managed to grow up and still get out in the world. And you said Miss Roberta had a whole bunch of her workbooks and worksheets that she was letting you borrow, right?"

"Oh," Carol's watery eyes widened, "right." She sniffled. "She had a big box of teaching manuals that she'd kept from the years she was working. And she taught through junior high for sure."

"And high school too," Daryl came back with a firm nod, "I know that 'cuz Jolie had her for English one year. I was at the Tech school then, but I know Miss Roberta bounced all around before she retired. She might not have saved those manuals for everything, but I'm sure she saved a lot. So you see," he gave her a little smile, "Sophia won't stop at the fourth grade. We'll keep her going off whatever we can find in Miss Roberta's office, and after that," he shrugged, "if it comes to the point where that girl's learned as much as we can teach her, I'll break into the schools and steal whatever other books we need. I'll do the math, and you do the English, and," he let out a heavy breath, "I don't know, we'll figure out the history and science stuff and anything else we think she should know, as we go along, okay?"

It would be hard, 'cuz it's not like schooling had ever come easy to him, but there were a few things he was good at besides math, like all that nature stuff that he'd mentioned to Carol before. And basically anything a person could learn in a shop class, he could teach Sophia down in the basement or out in the garage. And that was all practical type stuff she was gonna need to know for later on. Then Carol could handle the rest.

He was sure of it.

And he could see her now swallowin' as she stared down at her toes. A moment later though, she looked up at him with a sniffle and a bright smile.

"You know that actually sounds really good," she whispered, "because if we can keep finding books for her, then there's no reason that she couldn't still be something amazing."

"Of course she's gonna be something amazing," he answered with a wry twist of his lips, "she's your girl. And if we can get her through all this shit that's coming, then someday she's gonna be a grownup in a world that we can't even imagine right now. So we need to make sure that Sophia's as smart as she can be, so she can be a leader for whoever else makes it through."

For a second Carol just stared up at him in wonder as she blinked the tears from her eyes. Then finally a faint smile ghosted on her lips.

"You know," she whispered, "just the fact that you can actually see that far down the road, it makes me believe we really can get there."

"Yeah well," Daryl answered drily, "first we need to go to Costco and get about four thousand rolls of toilet paper, _then_ we can teach Sophia how to be the leader of the new world," his lip quirked up, "one thing at a time."

She burst out laughing.

"Right," she chuckled while reaching over to pat his chest, "one thing at a time."

It was just then that Carol heard sounds coming from the hall, and she turned her head to see that the topic of their musings . . . the future leader of the free world . . . was slowly shuffling her way down the staircase. Though at the moment . . . Carol's eyes crinkled . . . she wasn't looking very presidential. Because she was still just wearing Daryl's green t-shirt, which went down a little past her elbows on top, and a little past her knees on the bottom. And her hair was a bit of a rat's nest all the way around.

She was yawning into her arm.

"Hey there sleepyhead," Daryl called over as she stepped off the bottom step, and into the front hall, "I was thinking I'd have to send an elephant up there to wake you up."

And Sophia gave him a shy little smile, while she walked through the doorway.

"You don't have an elephant," she countered, with a slight twitching of her lips. And Daryl shook his head.

"You don't know what I got in the cellar."

She let out a giggle at that, as did Carol actually. And after Sophia had gone over to give Carol their standard mother/daughter morning bear hug, Daryl put his hand out.

"Can I get one of those too?" he asked with a hopeful twitch of his eyebrow. And Sophia's sleepy eyes crinkled as she took his fingers. Then he tugged her over, and pulled her up onto his lap.

So Sophia leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck, and put her head on his shoulder.

And feeling her warm little body clinging on so tight to his . . . that child did give good hugs, something else she got from her mama . . . Daryl's expression softened as he gently rubbed her back.

"Did you sleep good, darlin'?" He whispered in her ear. And she nodded.

"Uh huh," she murmured back against his neck, "I dreamed we were on a boat."

His eyes immediately shot over to Carol's then, to see that she was giving him the same curious look, that was probably on his face.

"A boat?" He repeated back to Sophia after a second, "like on the water, baby?"

"Uh huh," Sophia rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, "the bed was a boat. And me, you and Mama got on it together, and then we floated away," she let out a sigh, "and it was safe."

"Huh," his eyes crinkled, "well, that's a good dream then, right? Us all bein' together and safe?"

She tipped her head back so she could see his face. Then she gave him a little smile.

"Yeah," her eyes crinkled, "we took a nap, and then we woke up and Mama made us pancakes."

"In the bed?" He asked with amused quirk of his brow. And she giggled.

"No silly, she made them by _magic_! We just ATE them in the bed!"

He snorted.

"You say your mama makes magic pancakes that we eat on a floating bed boat, and _I'm_ the one who's being silly?" He muttered before shaking his head first at her, and then at Carol, who was snickering behind her hand.

"Your child."

"I know," she grinned, "isn't she great?"

"Hmph," he pretended to grumble for a second as Sophia tipped her head back to look up at him with a little smile. Then finally he let his nose wrinkle, before finishing softly, "yeah, I guess she's all right." Then he winked, and Sophia brought her hand up to cover over another giggle.

His mouth quivered then, and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from giving her another full smile. Because these two were just TERRIBLE for his reputation as a hardass!

As it was, when Sophia's laughter tapered off, and she snuggled in against his chest he felt a new wave of affection for that little girl. There was no gap between what he felt for her, and what he felt for her mama. Different types of feelings of course, but the same intensity for both.

So in the hopes of at least keeping the shorter of his girls in lighter spirits . . . at least as much as possible . . . he shifted Sophia around, so that she was sittin' on his knee.

Her toes were just skimmin' down over the carpet.

"All right then darlin'," he squeezed her little fingers, "you just remember that dream whenever it's bedtime. That we're just gonna all pile in on the big bed boat, and float away where Mama makes us pancakes and everybody's safe."

Over Sophia's head, Carol's eyes crinkled a bit at that. Though he could see they were a little watery too.

"I guess we might be sharing that big bed for a while," she murmured with the apology clear in her voice.

His lip quirked up.

"It's a boat, Mama," he reached over with his other hand to squeeze her fingers too, "we're sharin' the _boat_ for a while. And that's no problem at all," he winked at her, "'cuz there are still other rooms to dock in."

Seeing the light pink blush touch Carol's cheeks then as she shot him a little smile, Daryl knew she'd caught his drift on that one. And really that'd work out just fine for all parties, if they made up the bed in the guest room solely for 'grownup' activities.

The kind where they locked the door for an hour or so, while Sophia slept in the big boat bed down the hall.

And when it came time for overnight sleeping, the three of 'em could keep piling together big spoon to little, for as long as it needed to be that way. Then his girls would always feel safe for bed, and he'd know that they always _were_ safe for bed.

It was probably the only way any of them would ever get any rest.

And though he wished they could've sat there for a while longer, unfortunately cuddle time with his girls was not on the list of scheduled activities for the morning. It was one they would have to pencil in for much later in the day. So he reached up over his shoulder, and picked up the small pair of pajamas that he'd noticed sitting there neatly folded up next to his t-shirts. Carol was already wearing her own PJs, so she'd obviously sorted their clean laundry while he was out.

Then with the pajamas in his hand, he wrapped that arm around Sophia's waist, and tipped his head down to begin to whisper in her ear. He was telling about the big day they had planned. All the places they were gonna go. And he tried to make it all sound 'exciting,' and not 'terrifying.'

God only knew how successful he was bein' though.

Carol's expression softened as she listened to Daryl beginning to explain to Sophia about the errands they needed to run that morning. It was obvious how nervous her daughter was initially though, just with the idea of having to leave the house, because she'd immediately bitten her lip and had started to fidget. So Carol was just about to reach over and take her hand, because that's what they always did when they were scared . . . held hands . . . when she noticed that her girl had found a new coping mechanism to deal with her fear.

And that coping mechanism was Daryl.

She'd started rubbing her cheek on his shoulder, and squeezing his arm where it was wrapped around her torso. And her being able to hold onto him like that, was definitely helping to calm her. Because Carol could see how the closer he held her, the more her breaths were evening out. And as Carol looked over at the two of them cuddled together, she felt an ache in her chest. Because it was becoming clear to her that even if it might have been too soon for _her_ to use the L word with Daryl, it definitely wasn't too soon for her daughter.

He was becoming the center of her little world.

In a mere seven days though, Daryl had become more of a daddy to Sophia than she'd ever known before. Because Ed had never been a parent of any kind . . . not even a bad one. He'd just been a monster who had donated some sperm one night a long time ago. But he'd never held Sophia as a baby, or taught her anything more from life, than to always fear a raised voice and a slammed door. Not _once_ in ten years had he shown that child even an ounce of kindness or affection.

That's all Daryl had shown either one of them since the day the three of them had met.

And Carol already knew that Daryl had suffered probably as much, if not more, physical and emotional abuse from his own father as Sophia had from Ed. So that just went to prove, the cycle of violence could be broken . . . Carol's eyes started to burn . . . and you could build a family even without blood. And though she would have liked to let the two of them cuddle up a little longer . . . they both needed the contact . . . as she took note of the time on the cable box, Carol realized that they only had about seven minutes left before they had to go.

Seven minutes, and Sophia wasn't dressed yet.

But just when she was about to open her mouth, Daryl patted Sophia on the back, and whispered for her to go run and brush her teeth and get changed into the pajamas he was giving her, so they could go meet Miss Jolene and start their big day. Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek and let out a chuckle for her to go comb her monkey hair too. And as Sophia slipped off his lap with a giggle, and raced towards the stairs with her pajamas in hand, Carol turned to him then with a teary smile. His brow scrunched.

"What?"

"It's just," she huffed, "I'm starting to feel a lot less like the single mom I've been for the last ten years."

Seeing then how Daryl looked a little concerned, like maybe she'd thought he was overstepping his bounds with Sophia, Carol reached over and cupped his jaw.

"I meant that in the _best_ way possible, hon," she murmured with a brush of her thumb along his cheek, "truly. I've never had anybody to help me to take care of her before. And not just in the way all week that you've been protecting her and making sure that she's safe and fed, I mean," her eyes crinkled, "you just sent her up to brush her teeth. That's the nitty gritty stuff. It's almost like, well," she gave him a shy grin, "we're building a real family here."

When she said that, his eyes brightened as he gave her a slow nod.

"That's what I think we're doing too," he answered quietly as he caught her fingers falling down from his cheek, "it's what I want. So," he started pulling her up, "you ready to get this day going, Mama?"

And though she had a lead ball in her stomach worrying about all that could go wrong with as many stops as they needed to make, somehow Carol managed to keep the smile on her face for him. Because the "Mama" was Daryl reminding her that they _were_ building a family . . . and that they were doing ALL of this together. So she gave his hand a tight squeeze.

"Yep," she nodded, "I'm showered, my teeth are brushed, and," her lip quirked up as she shot a quick look down at her outfit, "I'm dressed in my leaving the house PJs, so I'm as ready as I can be right now."

It would be nice if she had some shoes to wear out, but if all went smoothly at the biddies, she'd be picking up her Keds soon enough. That and some regular pants would be good. She'd just feel a lot better going out into the larger world, if she was dressed more 'authoritatively.' Really, it was just hard to feel like you could take on whatever was coming, when you were dressed for a slumber party.

And it was almost like Daryl knew what she was thinking there.

Because then he pulled her into a hug, and started whispering in her ear that when they were out, maybe she could look for some jeans at Costco for her and Sophia, because he was thinking denim would be harder to bite through for any other errands that came up. What he was saying made sense, but it was still so creepy to have to think about.

Trying to figure out which fabrics took human teeth the longest to chew through.

That was clearly not a conversation she'd ever thought she'd have with anyone, but . . . she let out a heavy sigh . . . here they were. So she tipped her head back to give him a faint smile.

"Good thinking." Then she bit her lip, "and maybe we can find a jacket for Sophia too. I know it's hot, and maybe," she swallowed, "well, maybe it really wouldn't make much difference, but I'd just feel better if she had something thicker covering over her arms when we're out in the store."

"Actually," Daryl's brow knitted together as his hands slid down from Carol's back to her hips, "I might have a jacket we could put on her. An old biker one that I haven't worn in years. It'd be baggy of course, but I was a little slimmer then, because I didn't really bulk up until my last stretch in the joint," he shrugged, "and we could just roll the sleeves up either way. The important thing is," he gave a firm nod, "I think people teeth would get caught up in a good thick leather."

Fuckin' bizarre as shit workin' out what kinda things a dead person could eat through the fastest, but really anything that their teeth could get snagged on seemed like it'd help. Because Carol was right, it would make him feel a tiny bit better too, if Sophia had a little coverage over her out in public.

She was just so small, it was hard not to worry about her more.

So with that, he patted Carol's hip and let her go, to cut around to the front hall. That's where he went into the closet where he'd pulled out the bats earlier in the morning. And he dug around inside there again looking for this jacket that he was thinking of for Sophia. It took him a moment, but then he finally found what he wanted, so he stepped back and turned around.

"Whaddya think?" He held out the fitted black leather with a shake, "good enough for walking around Costco?"

"Yeah," Carol let out a heavy breath as she walked over and took the jacket out of his hands . . . it was definitely too small for him now with the muscles he had, "that should cover her. And again," she shrugged, "it might not do any good, but it's something."

"Actually," Daryl's jaw twisted as he considered a few scenarios, "I do think there's some merit here beyond us just having wishful thinkin'. Because I think if we got in a pinch and we just needed to buy a few seconds to get away, that's what this could do," his voice faded off, "buy her a few seconds."

For a second he was quiet just thinking about what he'd said . . . there were some really bad scenes in his head . . . then he blinked, and turned around. He called up the stairs.

"DARLIN', YOU ABOUT READY TO GO?!"

There was a brief pause, and then the sound of little feet scamperin' across the floorboards overhead, right before he heard a "COMING, DARYL!" And then Sophia, now dressed back in her own PJs, with her hair in a crooked pony, came racing down the steps.

She sounded like a tiny herd of water buffalo.

And again, Daryl knew how Carol wasn't too big on that girl runnin' around the biddies' house . . . but they had a nice place. His place was NOT nice. And God knew that girl couldn't do anymore damage to that house, than had already been done to it from sixty plus years of Dixon men ruling the roost. So when Sophia jumped off the second to last step, slammed her bare feet down on the scuffed hardwood, and then raced over to slide into his side with an excited, "ready!" Daryl's eyes shot over Carol's. And he could see how her mouth was quivering, that she was trying not to laugh.

So as he brought his arm up and wrapped it around Sophia's shoulders, he gave her mama an amused shrug.

"It don't bother me none. And there's nothing around here to be broke, that Merle or I ain't already busted a half dozen times before, so," his lip quirked up, "your call, Mama."

For a second Carol just stared over at the two of them, with that same half smile pulling at her lips. Then finally she let out a huff.

"Your house, your rules, hon. If it's okay with you," she looked down at Sophia with an indulgent smile, "it's okay with me."

Really, what difference did it make any more if her girl ran in the house? It was more of her breaking out of her shell. And it made her happy.

And there wasn't going to be a lot of happy to come.

So instead of being Mean Mama, Carol just held the leather jacket out with a faint crinkling of her eyes.

"Come here baby," she gave the leather a shake, "let's try this on!"

* * *

 _A/N 2: Again, a quieter chapter but I was just REALLY happy the Caryl muse was back, and I figured that eleven thousand words with some little sweet family bits in it was enough for a post after a thirty day break. Hopefully you all agree :) The next one WILL have some action in it because we do have a decent number of (known) walkers wandering about. It wouldn't be any fun to have that, if they weren't going to pop up at an inopportune time ;)_

 _The idea of wearing clothes that are harder to chomp through, not sure why that wasn't at least a passing conversation in the beginning. Obviously you get swarmed, you're just screwed, and as the years go on, you don't care so much because they're practically just killing walkers with Jedi mind powers now, but still it just seems like it should have been discussed somewhere in season 1 like "hey, would this help when we go on supply runs?" and unless my brain is totally spazzing, I don't think it ever was. Like in World War Z, when they had to make runs a couple of times, they wrapped their limbs up to make it harder for the infected to bite them, and it worked. It stopped them from getting bitten when the people teeth got snagged up on the wrappings. That's all I'm saying, if it's good enough for Brad Pitt! :)_

 _When I was writing the section about what they would teach Sophia to survive as a leader in the new world, I was thinking about canon TWD and if Sophia had lived, what a bad ass teenage girl she would be by now with current Carol and Daryl raising her up. Because the way they were falling together, they definitely would have been some kind of little family unit, even if 'Caryl' wasn't overtly romantic yet. And you can make the arguments all day on what Carol would be like right now if Sophia hadn't died, but it was Ed dying that really freed her. Because before she knew that Sophia was dead, (before she totally gave up hope of her coming back really) she was clamoring to learn how to use the guns, and all that, so she had started to toughen up. I think the difference would be that if Sophia had come back from the woods alive, ALL of Carol's old self wouldn't have been burned away so fast. It would have been more by degrees like anyone else in the group who wasn't with them for Sophia's appearance in the barn, and didn't suffer that trauma. There were always going to be a million more horrible things coming. So it would be hard to say that she couldn't have still turned out just as tough, because for all the people she's killed to keep their group alive, the people that she loves, it would be kind of ridiculous to argue that she would have somehow been SOFTER, if she wasn't also fighting to keep her child alive too. That would have been Queen Carol, COMBINED with a Mama Bear Grizzly. So really, the body count could be in the thousands! Ha, ha!_

 _On the ipso facto front, Daryl had to have had at least one biker jacket, because Daryl had no problems at all taking Merle's bike right up for his own. Ergo, Daryl had to have spent many years previous to that, riding a motorcycle :) I haven't decided yet what's in the Dixon garage, but there might be a bike in there for him. Merle's of course is in impound right now from his DUI, so the 'white power' Triumph might not show up in this universe. Unless Merle REALLY wants to get it back! And I'm thinking he might just be a big enough jackass to do that :)_

 _That's all folks, I hope the quieter bits weren't a disappointment after the wait! :) Thanks all!_


	21. 10 Bodies

**Author's Note** : See, I didn't forget about it :) I had purposely side burnered it because I wanted to make it a focus for the holidays, then going into the holidays life got messy and this, and everything else, fell to the side. But I've really been missing Blackburn because I love this town, maybe because it's more 'mine' than anything else I've ever written. So trust me, I'm happier to be back here than any of you are :)

To this, given how many errands and tasks they have planned to take care of on this day, I'd initially planned to do a jump ahead in time with a bit of a recap to move things along. Then I decided that I'd been away from here for so long, that I'd just stay 'live' (with a heavy helping of narrative to push along) to get back in their groove again, and then I'd carry on with them through the day that way. Hell, we're already at 21 chapters and they _just_ learned the word "walker," so this is clearly going to take as long as it takes. I do already know how it ends (you have to know how it ends when you start it) and I'd rather continue to tell this story to you guys the way it is in my head, than to hurry pieces of it along and not be happy with the outcome. Presumably you folks would agree :) Though for this one, I did decide to do a shorter chapter than I'd projected in my draft, for the simple reason that I really want to get it back into rotation, and I felt polishing up one of my 'normal sized' chapters for this world would take a few more weeks, and you know as long as there's some reason for it to drag, something else will come up and time will just keep stretching out. But now this version of them is fresh in my head, the story is back in rotation, and I think it will be easier to keep it there. Fingers crossed.

So here, direct pickup, starting narrative from Carol's POV.

* * *

 **1.0 Bodies**

Carol could see that Daryl's jacket fit Sophia about as well as Daryl's t-shirt had fit Sophia, in that it was entirely too big and she was essentially swimming in it. But once they got the sleeves rolled up, and the front zipped, it worked out basically like a loose fitting, leather dress. Not an article of clothing that _most_ mothers would choose for their ten year old daughters to wear . . . not unless the family was in a biker gang . . . but Carol figured that it worked well for their purposes here. And too big or not, Sophia actually seemed to like wearing that jacket quite a bit. So much so, that even when Daryl moved to unzip her again, while simultaneously explaining that she only had to wear it when they were in the store itself, she took a step backwards and shook her head.

"I don't want to take it off," she whispered then with a bite of her lip. And feeling that reaction was a bit odd, after exchanging a curious glance with Daryl . . . who just shrugged . . . Carol turned back to her daughter.

"Well honey," she started to explain in a gentle tone, "I really think it'll be too hot to wear while we're running around, so why don't we . . ."

That's when she started to reach for the zipper again. But once more, her daughter took another step backwards. This time as her eyes started to get shiny and she shook her head again.

The action was almost violent.

"No Mama, please don't take it off," she pleaded with a crackle in her voice, as her arms quickly came up to wrap around her chest, "it smells like Daryl!"

The second those words left her lips, Sophia's face flushed a dark pink and her chin dropped to her chest. It was obvious that she was mortified she'd made that admission out loud. And when Carol again looked over to Daryl, she could see a bit of color had touched his cheeks as well.

Though at the same time, she could also how his expression softened as he reached out to cup Sophia's jaw. He tipped her head back.

One single tear slid down her daughter's face.

"One of my favorite things this week," Daryl spoke softly then, and with a gentle smile, "was gettin' to smell that scent of apples, that came from your mama's hair after she took a shower. So," he brushed his thumb along Sophia's cheek, "ain't no reason for you to be embarrassed right now, little girl. At least no more," she shot Carol a quick grin, "than I need to be embarrassed for admitting that in front of your mama."

Feeling her eyes start to sting, even as the smile pulled at the corner of her lips, Carol stepped forward to lean up and press a quick kiss to Daryl's cheek. Then she turned and leaned down to do the same thing to Sophia's forehead.

She straightened up with a watery smile.

"You two," she said sniffle, "are so adorable that you're going to make me cry. So all right," she continued on with a light squeeze of Sophia's leather clad shoulder, "you can wear the jacket baby, but if you start getting sweaty you have to unzip it. And if Daryl or I say that you're looking overheated, you'll have to take it off for a bit until you cool down." Carol's eyebrow inched up then, though the faint amusement was still there in her tone, "you got it?"

Even though she still had visions of heatstroke in her head, Carol knew that there was no way she could veto her daughter's request now. Because they all knew, even Sophia, how bad this day going to be. And it might end up being even worse than that. So if her daughter felt better going back out into the world, wrapped up in something that smelled like the only man she'd ever trusted to keep her safe, then Carol was all for it. Her eyes crinkled.

Even if her girl did look like an extra in a road house movie.

But seeing Sophia give her back a sharp nod, and a happy smile, while simultaneously answering with a dutiful, "yes, mama, I got it," Carol figured that she'd done the best she could to balance out her concerns as a "good mother." So she looked up to Daryl with a faint crinkle of her eyes.

He shot her a wink, right before he leaned down and smacked a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Need to run back upstairs for a second," was his murmur as he pulled away, "just thought of something I can use to carry those books you wanted."

"Oh, okay," she stammered back with a little smile, but he was already turning on his heel to run across the room. So Carol shifted her attention back to Sophia.

"Kitchen please, little miss," she instructed her daughter with a gentle push towards the hall, "I left you a croissant on the cookie sheet. It's already buttered, and it should still be warm. If you aren't done with it by the time Daryl comes back down, you can finish it in the truck."

Again, Carol had barely finished speaking, before her companion was turning to run out of the room. But of course in this instance . . . her eyes crinkled as Sophia raced around the corner . . . it was because she'd just run the dinner (breakfast) bell. And good Lord did her daughter love croissants! They were one of the few 'special treats' that Carol had been able to convince Ed to let her buy even though he didn't care for them himself. But at a dollar thirty-nine for a roll of the store brand, it wasn't too difficult to get him to excuse them being on the grocery receipts, once every few months. Usually Carol would save the roll for a weekend morning when she was sure that Ed would be sleeping one off, so that way she and her girl could have a quiet breakfast all by themselves. And generally before they were baked, Carol would stuff each roll with a dollop of cream cheese and jam, or a bit of American cheese and a slice of cooked bacon or deli ham. Either way, sweet or savory, her daughter always thought they were delicious.

Even if they were just the store brand ones.

And as Carol went over to gather up her purse, she also snagged a pen up from the coffee table, so that she could add two more items to their grocery list.

 _Crescent rolls and cream cheese._

Funny enough, they hadn't occurred to her the night before when they were just thinking of food for long term planning. The other fillings though, they were all already on the grocery list as basics to pick up anyway. But that was because as long as the utility grids stayed online, the refrigerator and freezer would keep working, and she could keep using the stove to cook them real meals. So basically they didn't need to start switching over straight away to protein bars and freeze dried apple bits.

That was all for later on.

This was now, and _in_ the now, they were planning on stocking up on a ton of fresh food too. Because if they got lucky, the electrical grid might stay up for another week or two, and if they got _really_ lucky, it might even last close to a month. At least that's what Daryl thought, and Carol was obviously taking his word for it because he had a better read on those kinds of things than she did. Especially for this area, where he said that they were likely to be a lot luckier in that area than the bigger cities. He said that was because Blackburn was so remote, that back in the sixties, they'd built their own small power station on the edge of the town limit, just before the forest became federal land. Apparently it was a hydroelectric plant.

Everything was powered off a waterfall a few miles away.

And what that meant was, provided enough of the workers who knew how to keep everything running, could avoid catching this flu, or . . . Carol's lips pursed as she scribbled the additions to her grocery list . . . being killed later on by the ones who didn't, then that power station could, in theory, stay operational for a period even after the bigger, national grid, started to collapse. And Daryl said _that_ collapse would be coming fast. Likely within the week if things kept going the way they were in the cities.

The riots were spreading everywhere.

In the meantime though, as she tucked the folded slip of paper back into her purse, (alongside Jolene's clean socks, which she wanted to give back to her), Carol was planning to take advantage of the running water and working kitchen appliances, for as long as their luck held. Plus last night she'd found out from Daryl, that the Dixon brothers also had a storage freezer in the basement that he said was, at present, half filled with cuts of deer steaks leftover from last fall's hunting season. And they were going to need both that freezer, and that meat. So Daryl's plan was to pull all of the venison out this weekend so it would start to thaw, and by Monday he could begin making it into jerky to add to their long term food storage. And then _Carol's_ plan, once the freezer was empty, was to immediately fill that empty space up again, with pre-made casseroles and meatballs, and breads and really anything else she could think of to cook up that would freeze well. Her thought was, given how this was quite possibly the only food run they'd be able to make for the duration, that they should take full advantage. And this way their fresh meat and produce would last a lot longer than just a few days. Ideally, if they spread things out right, it was possible they'd have a full week's worth of good meals to pull out, even after the electricity went down. And if the electricity went _faster_ than they were expecting, and it looked like the food might spoil, she and Daryl had already agreed that they could just share whatever they knew they wouldn't be able to eat, with Jolene and her family.

That way nothing would go to waste.

The other key thing they needed to make sure all of their food would last, were those supply bins. And that would be those big clear storage bins that most people used for packing away off season clothes or holiday decorations, well they were going to buy, in Daryl's words, "a crapload" of them. Their hope was that immediately by putting all of their newly purchased nonperishables into those airtight containers, that their fresh food would keep fresh, much longer. And also, if the day came, God help them, where they needed to evacuate either from Blackburn, or even just this house, then everything they needed to take with them would already be packed and ready to load up.

At least in theory anyway.

But really, they were trying to plan for every conceivable contingency, even though in her heart she knew that would never be possible. The things that were happening now were themselves inconceivable to start, so what could be coming down the road was probably beyond either of their imaginations. At the least though . . . Carol let out a sigh as she walked over to pick up her baseball bat . . . they were a heck of a lot further ahead of the curve than most other people. Just the fact that they had this little window of time now to stock up on food and weapons and ammunition, truly was a _miracle_.

One they needed not to squander.

And hearing Daryl's boots creaking on the boards at the top of the stairs . . . he'd been gone about two minutes . . . Carol knew that it was finally time to go.

They'd used up that last little buffer window of time.

So she quickly tossed the strap of her purse over her head, as she called in to the kitchen, "come on baby, we're leaving for real now!"

Then she turned to see Daryl hurrying off the last step and into the front hall. He was now carrying not only two oversized canvas duffel bags . . . given their olive green color, she was guessing they were Army surplus . . . but also (somewhat surprisingly), three pairs of men's socks.

Carol's brow wrinkled.

"What are those for?" She asked with a gesture towards the footwear in his hand.

He held them out.

"I want you to put on two pairs," he instructed with a slight breathlessness as she took them from his grasp, "'cuz you already had that cut on your foot, and I wanna make sure you keep the bandage clean until you get your sneakers back. And the third pair," he continued on with a jerk of his chin even as he was walking over to his pile of new guns, "I was thinkin' Sophia should wear."

His nose wrinkled then as he threw Carol a look over his shoulder.

"Even if I will mostly be carryin' her," he explained with a shake of his head, "I just don't like the idea of her being out of the house barefoot again. It's just, well," he let out a heavy sigh, "there's just too much shit out there lurking, that we don't understand."

For a second Carol just looked over at him as he stooped down to pick up the weapons he was taking with them for their errands around town. And just thinking about crazy that was, that they needed _multiple_ firearms to drive around in broad daylight in what, three days earlier, had been such a quaint, quiet, little community . . . was enough for his words to really hit home. Because honestly they didn't have a God damn clue what else was out there lurking. They knew about a flu, and they knew about the attacks, and now they knew about the reanimations, but who was to say that was everything? Really, up until their conversation with Jolene, they didn't even realize that the attacks and the flu were connected.

Maybe there were other things connected too,

And given how they were returning to a house where somebody had been killed by an infected person, then hell, maybe a pair of socks would help to keep something off their skin they wouldn't want there.

Really these days there was no way to tell what would help, and what wouldn't.

So while Daryl was cracking open one of the new cases of ammunition, and pulling out a half dozen of the "clips," as he explained to her was the proper term, to shove into his carry satchel, she and Sophia dropped to the floor, and quickly pulled on the socks that he'd brought down. Of course they were a little too big for her, and a lot too big for Sophia . . . but they were something. And if nothing else, when she saw Daryl looking over at her with a little nod and a smile, she knew that at least they'd made him happy.

That was reason enough by itself to wear them.

And when she started to push herself back to her feet, with one clip still in his hand, Daryl hurried over to help her off the floor. Then he continued on by her and over to the coffee table where he picked up, and quickly _loaded_ up, that pretty Tiffany blue gun that he'd just bought her for a present. And after he'd smacked the clip in, and checked the safety again, he walked back the six steps to where she was now standing next to the Lazy Boy recliner. Without a word, he reached over and unzipped her bag from where it was dangling down, resting against her hip.

He tucked the gun into her purse.

For a moment she just stared down at that bright blue grip, buried in there next to Jolene's black socks.

"It's just for absolute worst case, sweetheart," Daryl murmured then, while leaning down to press a quick, soft kiss to her lips, "we need to always be prepared now for things to go the wrong way." His jaw twitched, "then we just pray they go right."

She nervously licked her lower lip then, and tasting that bit of him there, she looked up again with a tight smile.

"You're absolutely right," she answered with a firm nod, "better to have it and not need it."

So that was that . . . that was the moment when she started carrying a gun. It was strange, after all of those years of Ed terrorizing her with his . . . many a night he'd gotten drunk and had threatened her with a game of Russian roulette that usually ended four rounds in . . . Carol had been worried that maybe she'd be frightened when this moment came.

Because of course she knew this moment was coming.

That had been one of the dominant thoughts rolling around her head in the shower that morning. She'd been thinking about Daryl at the gun shop, and knowing how he was going to come home and show her what he bought, and then most likely he would begin to explain to her how to handle all of these weapons. But now that she actually had a weapon (gun) of her own, mostly what she was feeling was kind of a strange relief. Yes, she was of course VERY nervous too, not only for the heavy responsibility of carrying something that could kill someone with a twitch of her finger, but also for having to picture (because she couldn't help picturing) the "absolute worst case" scenarios where Daryl might tell her to pull this gun out today.

The shit would have definitely hit the fan then.

Though if Daryl wanted her carrying now, even before she'd had her training, that meant if (in the "absolute worst case," a phrase she could not shake), they had a walker coming right up on them, she'd probably be able to fire with a fairly decent degree of accuracy from that close. Like a chomping jaw suddenly appearing right outside the truck window, for instance. She rolled her eyes.

That would probably be pretty easy to hit.

Of course God willing that situation would NOT arise, and her gun would stay safely tucked away in her bag until it was time to go for the shooting lessons that afternoon. But at least this way, she felt like she wasn't quite so much a burden for Daryl to look after. Because now, between this and her penny loaded bat, she could at least help him to protect their little pseudo family.

And that made her feel strong.

Until she'd met Daryl, and he'd introduced her to this new life up here in Blackburn, "strong" wasn't something that she'd felt in a long time. He'd changed her life in so many ways, and she knew that she'd feel even stronger and more confident once she could fire these guns as well as he could . . . but practice would come. Still though, on this day, with God only knew what waiting for them out in the world, the gun was an unequivocally good thing. So while she zipped up her purse with her new blue Smithie inside, Daryl snagged up the empty duffels, and threw the strap for the rifle, up over his shoulder.

He already had his Glock on his hip.

So with all three of the guns they were taking with them, now _on_ them, on his way towards the door, Daryl scooped Sophia up onto his non-gun toting, hip, and pulled his house keys out from his pocket.

He turned around and handed them to Carol.

"These are goin' to be yours to keep track of now, sweetheart," he said as she was folding her fingers around the small jangling pile, "I'll keep the watch while you do the locks, and that'll be our regular thing whenever we have to go out." Then his tone softened as his eyes crinkled a bit, "at least until you can hit the center of the bullseye."

"Right," her lip quirked up, "works for me."

So then, after Daryl had checked out the window to make sure the street was clear . . . they went out the door. That was with him, (and Sophia by default), stepping out first to watch the yard and the street, while Carol quickly followed behind to turn the two locks on the door. And having that extra lock, which was the deadbolt, even though it slowed them down a few seconds getting into and out of the house, it made her really happy. Because she was sure that there was NO chance in hell of a dead person, picking a damn deadbolt lock! Really, she had no idea what these things were capable of, but she was POSITIVE that they were not capable of THAT! Because there was no way a dead person, with a dead person's brain, and a dead person _FINGERS_ , would still have that kind of skill.

So once those two locks were set, Carol shoved the house keys into her bag, and picked up her bat from where it was leaning against the closed door.

She gave Daryl's back a nudge.

"Go, go, go," she whispered even as she was pulling that Louisville Slugger up to her shoulder. So then they were moving down the steps, across the yard, and over to the truck.

Again, she was the key master, but once the locks were popped she pulled the driver's side door open, Daryl muttered a curse about needing to DD40 the hinges that afternoon, and they all piled in. Carol first, then Sophia, with both of them already moving to slide across the bench seat before their butts even hit the leather.

Because had a rhythm to all this now.

Which was why she and her girl had already belted themselves in, before Daryl had even put the ignition in reverse. Once he did that though, he turned to look over his shoulder . . . and once more sped out backwards like a bat from hell.

That was part of their rhythm now too.

From there they silently sped through that little town, crisscrossing all of the streets that they'd crisscrossed the night before. At that time, between the darkness and the breakneck speed, Carol hadn't been able to see much at all in terms of the town itself. Now in the daylight though (and at only ten miles per hour over the posted twenty-five mile per hour speed limit) she was starting to get a read on where some things in Blackburn were in relation to other things. And she figured that was good because, well . . . she bit her lip . . . this was her home now. So just on the off chance that she was ever out alone and needed to be able to maneuver around town, at least she'd be able to find her way. Not that she wanted to envision the scenario where she was somehow wandering through Blackburn by herself, but hell . . . that was EXACTLY what had happened last night! And Daryl had said they needed to plan for things to go wrong all the time now.

And if they somehow all got separated again that would be the worst thing ever.

It was a worry that she tried to push out of her mind as they finally approached the ever so _slightly_ busier, center of town. Even though Jolene had told them that the school and municipal offices were supposed to have been closed today, there were folks obviously with other types of jobs and lives, who would be out. Especially given how that State of Emergency announcement wasn't scheduled until eight am, and then the actual briefing of how screwed they were, wasn't until nine, so there had been no way to avoid the reality that there would be a number of people who would be on the move even earlier.

Fortunately at only a little after seven, that number was still only in the single digits.

And that was including both cars passing them on the street, and the smattering of pedestrians walking along the sidewalks. Two of those men they'd passed . . . one by a small park, the other who had stopped in front of an insurance office . . . had had travel mugs in hand, and newspapers under their arms like they didn't have a care in the world. Those were the ones Carol knew for sure didn't have even the slightest clue that the infection had shown up in Blackburn.

There were a few others though . . . her eyes narrowed as they started to come up on a young mixed race couple hurrying along, she was black, he had pale skin . . . that seemed a bit more skittish. Like these two here, they were sticking close together, and giving everyone they saw . . . both in cars and out walking . . . a wide berth as they passed them by on the very edge, or middle of, the sidewalk, depending on who they were trying to avoid. She could also see that they each had a full duffel bag over their shoulder, and a baseball bat in hand.

Oh yeah . . . she bit her lip . . . there was no doubt that they already knew about last night's attacks.

And as Carol's view of them switched from what she could see out the windshield, to the reflection in the passenger side mirror, she cleared her throat and gestured over her shoulder.

"Do you know them?"

The words were obviously directed at Daryl, and she could see how his eyes bounced up to the rearview mirror to take a closer look at who she was referring to. He squinted.

"Yeah," he answered with a sharp nod as his attention snapped back out the windshield, "yeah, that's Darlene Jackson and her boyfriend Tom Vang. Tom and his brother, Jason, they run the Chinese/Thai place in town. It's coming up here in a minute."

"Hmm," Carol mused back as she watched their figures fading in the mirror, "well, it looks like they seem to know what's up. Though I wonder why they're out walking around right now, if they do understand how dangerous that is."

Daryl's nose wrinkled as he shot another quick look in the mirror.

"Don't think either of them have a car," his jaw twitched, "'cuz usually I see her on a dirt bike, and the two of them live in an apartment over the restaurant, so Tom wouldn't necessarily have use for one, what with everything he needs right within walking distance."

Then he was quiet for a second before he continued on with a tap of his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Hmm, yeah," he hummed, "bet they went to the CVS for supplies. 'Cuz it's a twenty-four one, and only three blocks over and one down from their place. If they waited 'til sunup, brought those bats, and stayed clear of every other person on the street no matter how normal they looked, the risk of running into trouble would probably be pretty low. I mean," he let out a grunt, "I wouldn't risk it with you two, but if we were in a pinch and had no vehicle," he nodded, "yeah, I'd probably make that run by myself."

Carol was just about to respond to that statement with a, "like hell I'd let you do that," when Daryl suddenly pointed off to the left.

"Oh, there's Jolie in the SUV just circling around the lot. I knew we weren't running but maybe a minute late."

So she let her comment die on her tongue. Though she did make a mental note to bring this conversation up to Daryl again later, in private, when they could have another talk about, "acceptable," risks in the future.

And him running off alone down multiple residential and commercial streets . . . even in a town this size . . . was _not_ acceptable to her.

Right now though, Carol didn't even have to worry about him getting out of the truck to go to the ATM, because she could see that, thank God, the drive-thru one was in working order. Or at least it seemed to be in working order, because Jolene had just pulled up to it herself.

It was just then, as Daryl was driving them over the small bump of an entrance into the bank parking lot, that Carol saw movement behind the bright sunlight reflecting off the ATM vestibule area. Her eyes widened.

There was a person in there.

Or . . . she bit her lip as the mangled face suddenly smashed into the glass . . . it _was_ , a person. Was as in used to be.

Because that was a walker in there now.

One that was now repeatedly banging its head against that transparent wall, trying to break through to get to the live humans (them) that had just shown up to snack on. And Carol only managed to stammer out a, "um, hon, in the vestibule," before Daryl hissed out a, "God damn it," and slammed his foot down on the brake.

They stopped short.

Then with Daryl's hand on Sophia's arm, and Sophia's head tucked down against Carol's breast, the three of them sat there for a moment with the engine idling. The adults were just watching that horrible mindless creature clawing at the glass. It was too dumb to even know that that the door was two feet to the left. And Carol had to figure that man had probably gotten bit (or sick) and had died in there at some point the night before. Because otherwise she couldn't see how an already reanimated walker, could have gotten inside a security door.

It wasn't like he would have known to take his ATM card out.

And Carol was thinking that Daryl was just waiting for Jolene, who was still at the drive-thru on the opposite side of the bank, and therefore oblivious to what they were seeing, to finish up her transaction, and drive over so he could make her aware of the problem. But then he let out another curse, as his eyes darted across the front seat.

"What?" She whispered, her voice now breathy with a slight panic. "What are you thinking?"

His jaw tightened.

"What I'm _thinking_ ," he answered with a scowl, "is that there's no way that thing who used to be Burt Langdon, the head butcher at the Piggly Wiggly, is gonna be able to get out of there on its own, to make itself available to take a bullet to the brain. So that means that when she's free, either me or Jolie's goin' to have to go over there and open the door for that thing, while the other one lines up to take the shot."

As her stomach flipped at the understanding of how dangerous that would be . . . these things were LETHAL up close, they'd seen that time and again(!) . . . Carol winced and closed her eyes.

 _Shit._

* * *

 _A/N 2: Ah, the good old days when taking out one walker was a nerve wracking, multi-person, production :)_

 _The idea of them having their own power station isn't JUST convenient, creative license . . . though it is very convenient :) I actually got the idea after the floods that hit North Carolina last year. My niece lives down there, and so many communities even outside the actual flood areas, lost their power for weeks, but she had hers back within maybe a day, and I asked her, how'd you guys luck out. That's when I found out because her tiny little community (which barely counts as an incorporated town) is technically so remote (the majority of her cops and her FD are volunteer, and she commutes like forty minutes through nothing, to get to the town where she works), that they had put in their own power substation forty years ago because otherwise, every time there were major outages, they would be out for a week or more. That was just how long it took to get to them, because obviously the repair crews start with the biggest communities first. And I was thinking about that, and just how freaking perfect it was for this scenario here, that such things are built. And I figure a national forest probably has a few waterfalls in it, and if they could run a small hydroelectric substation out there, I don't have to plunge them into the Stone Age, just yet. Of course enough of their small band of workers staying alive to keep the place running is a huge issue, so we'll see how that plays out. They're not going to live in a magical utopia like Alexandria, but I just didn't want to have to plunge them all into darkness immediately, because realistically that should be the turn the story takes by the end of their weekend. Because you know if this happened in RL, the national grid would the first thing to go. The redundancies are there to stop that from happening, but once the virus and the riots are spreading exponentially, the redundancies wouldn't matter. Christ, one drunk idiot hits a transformer, he can knock out ten city blocks for a day. And that's if the teams are free and able to go right out and start fixing things. Now imagine FULL chaos in every major city, spreading to all of the smaller ones, fires breaking out, and flesh eating walkers in the street, so it's not safe for the workers to even try to fix anything. So if your neighborhood is unlucky enough to go week one, it's not coming back ever. Here, we bought us a smidge of time to transition._

 _I know it wasn't super long, but I hope you all are happy we're back, because I know I am! :)_


	22. The Learning Curve

**Author's Note:** It's been EIGHTY-FOUR years, but we're back!

Two new characters pop in here with Jolie's husband, Greg, and the sheriff's wife, Tanya. As with my other originals, I have 'cast' them with RL actors. In this case Greg is Terry Serpico (Law and Order fans will recognize him :)) and Tamlyn Tomita (she's been in a million things). For visual reference, their pictures are up with the chapter posting on my Tumblr.

Otherwise, picking up shortly after the last chapter ended. We still have that pesky walker to deal with. We start with a live scene here then we move to some narrative so we can cover a bit more time on their clock.

* * *

 **The Learning Curve**

Daryl's jaw twitched as he stared down at the gun in his hand. At that moment Jolie was standing over in front of the ATM with her hand on the door, waiting for him to give her the go signal to open it up.

But he just wasn't quite ready yet.

'Cuz this was the second time in less than twelve hours he needed to fire a bullet into a person's brain . . . someone he KNEW . . . or else another person, one he cared about, would die. It didn't matter that the first person was technically already gone, because they were still up and moving around like they weren't. So it was just the whole cluster of this new reality of what it meant to be alive, that took some gettin' used to. Or at least it _should_ take some gettin' used to.

If you weren't a fucking monster, that is.

This was the way of things now though, so he just needed to ball up and get it done. So with that last thought, he let out a heavy breath, looked up . . . and he gave the nod. Jolie swiped the card . . . he raised his arm . . . and she yanked open the door.

That's when his heart started galloping in his chest.

Because now she was outside on the sidewalk, pinned back between the door and the glass wall, just waiting for the thing that used to be their local butcher, Burt Langdon, the guy who always smelled of Brylcream and dead cow, to realize he had an exit now from the box. But . . . Daryl's brow twitched . . . Langdon wasn't going for that exit. Instead he was still just clawing at the glass two feet to the left. Hmph.

Apparently these things really were dumb as shit.

That was good to know, but kind of a pain in the ass for the situation they had here where they just needed to get on with the day. So to move things along Daryl tried a couple of bird calls.

But . . . he huffed . . . nothing.

Now he was startin' to get kind of irritated, because all he wanted to do was shoot this poor dead bastard in the head and go on to the biddies' place, but the poor dead bastard was not cooperatin' with the PLAN! And he was trying to think of another way to get that thing through the door without Jolie having to step out where it wasn't safe, when from off behind him, Daryl heard Carol call out his name. He couldn't take his eyes off the ATM door though, just in case, so he just yelled back over his shoulder.

"Yeah, what is it, sweetheart?!"

"I have an idea!" She called back, right before he heard the hinges of the door start to creak. "I'm coming over there!"

Before he could say hell no to that, because the LAST fucking thing he wanted were both Jolene _and_ Carol out in the open while he was trying to get one of these walkers to run _loose_ (!) . . . he heard the door of his truck snap back, then padded footsteps hurrying over in his direction.

Finally there was Carol's warm hand on his back.

"Throw this through the doorway," she said, while pushing a small item against his side, "it'll show it that it's open."

His interest piqued by her suggestion, Daryl brought his left hand down off the grip, to take the thing that was poking into his side. A quick shake confirmed what he thought it might be.

A box of Tic Tacs.

There had been a half pack of grape flavored ones in the glove compartment.

"That was good thinkin'," he murmured over to Carol with a tip of his head, "so now you get back in the truck and I'll give it a go. And oh hey, uh," he added quickly as he felt her hand falling away, "keep an eye out around the lot too if you could, 'cuz I'm a little worried about this shot maybe bringing us more visitors."

"Right," her voice thickened for a second she before cleared it, "and of course I'll watch your back."

Then he heard her hurrying off. It wasn't until the door slammed shut again that he started to move forward. Because he was definitely too far away to get the distance he needed for a toss of a half full box of breath mints.

Once he was about twelve paces out though, he figured he was close enough to get the box straight through the door, and still have enough maneuverability to line up and take the shot if that thing came out faster than he was expecting it would/could.

So he took another deep breath, gave Jolie a look . . . and hurled the mints.

That little box went FLYING through the door, bounced off the far glass wall with a crack, and hit the floor with a slap. And _THAT_ , finally, got Langdon's attention. Because _that_ noise, unlike the ones Daryl had been making, actually came from inside the little room where the thing was standing. And as it staggered around, looking for the cause . . . there was no way in hell he was gonna figure out it was the mints . . . Daryl made another bird call to get it to look towards the outside.

That time it worked.

Because hoss was already stumbling towards the exit, so with that third round of bird calls he realized the door was open. The other thing it had just realized . . . and Daryl could tell this from how he tipped his head back and started to sniff the air . . . was that there was a fresh meal nearby.

That fresh meal would be Jolene.

And before Daryl could blink, that thing was throwing itself against the glass of the open door she was pinned behind. And seeing one of those hands start to claw through at the empty space on the side where the hinges were, he started to see that maybe these things weren't quite so stupid as he'd hoped. So even if it wasn't an ideal shot . . . Langdon was squirming, lined up at a half angle and not straight on . . . Daryl fired two bullets. One into the right shoulder to spin that side of the body around . . . it worked . . . and then the other was a dead center shot in the forehead.

That worked too.

The thing dropped in a heap. So Daryl slowly brought the Glock down to his side as Jolie slipped out from behind the glass barrier. When she let the door go though, it only closed halfway because Langdon's crumpled legs were blocking the entrance now.

"Whadda we do with it?!" He called out to her as he started hurrying over to where she was giving the left leg a kick with the steel toe of her boot.

Her hand was on her holster, and she still hadn't taken her eyes off the body yet.

Once she seemed sure though the thing that was once Langdon was now double times dead, she turned around to face him with a wrinkle in her nose.

Daryl stopped about three feet back.

"I already called it in that we were about to kill one," she answered while reaching up to tap the radio on her shoulder, "and they were doing cleanup downtown anyway so the truck should be here soon to get it. I just need to take his picture so we can make sure he gets added to the list and we can notify his family. And the body," she bit her lip, "that'll be burned later this morning, because they already have the incinerator going at the dump."

"No shit," Daryl answered softly, his eyes shifting down to the body in question, "so no burials for anyone?"

"Can't risk it," Jolie answered with a tight shake of her head while she was pulling her phone from her pocket, "because burials mean funerals, and funerals mean crowds and we can't have crowds right now. More even to the point though," her lips pressed together, "over the next few weeks we're expecting to lose, best case, thirty percent of the town's population." She turned to give him a look.

"Do you think we're equipped to conduct four to five hundred funerals back to back?"

"No," he let out a soft sigh at the reality of what was coming, "no, I don't suppose we are."

So with her point made, Jolene turned away to snap the photo of Langdon's face. Then she pulled a rubber glove from the back pocket of her pants, and after she'd snapped it onto her left hand, she stooped down to put that hand into the front pocket of the corpse.

It was the pocket Daryl could see a slight bulge in it.

Obviously Jolene had seen what he had, because it only took her second to pull out what she was looking for . . . his wallet. And after she'd slipped the driver's license out from the fold, she paused for a moment while she stared down at it, then she turned and held up the small leather compartment.

"He's got a picture of his grandkids in here."

Hearing her voice break, even as his own eyes started to sting, Daryl had to look to the gravel beneath his feet.

"We can't be thinkin' on this stuff, Jolie," his voice crackled over the glass in his throat, "not now when we're out in the open. It was bad enough I had to stop for a second before I even lined up the shot," his eyes snapped back to hers, "we can't be getting distracted with the mess of it all," he threw a quick look over his shoulder before his eyes shot back to hers again, "not when you just said we got four or five hundred more of these things to kill."

Thinking about having to do this a hundred times over seemed like a special sort of hell to him, and most likely to Jolene too. Either way, his words seemed to make an impact, because she immediately sniffled and nodded as she moved to drop the license into the evidence bag in her other hand.

"Yeah," she let out a heavy sigh, "you're right about that. And I was doing okay last night when I killed the three around the stationhouse. But," she shook her head, "it obviously wasn't safe then to collect the licenses so we just started doing that step this morning as part of the cleanup. And it's different going through their personal things." She looked back up, "it makes it more . . . real, or something."

"Yeah," he hummed, thinking the term she really wanted to use was ' _tragic, or something_.'

"Bottom line," he continued on out loud while reaching over to give his friend's shoulder a squeeze, "it's a shitstorm, and that's all there is to it. So," his arm fell back to his side, "I'm gonna go do the deposit now, then we'll be ready to go as soon as they get here for the body."

That time Daryl Jolene gave him a sharp nod as she murmured, "right, yeah, okay." Then she shoved both her phone, and the baggie now holding Langdon's license, into the oversized front pocket on her uniform cargo pants.

She buttoned the flap closed.

And with her now seeming more herself again . . . she'd just let out a heavy sigh as she turned to start doing a perimeter check of the still empty parking lot . . . Daryl got on with doing his own things.

First he ran back over to the truck. From there, after a squeeze of Carol's fingers, and a brief 'half in his lap' cuddle for Sophia (that poor child was always there with them in the middle of this shit), it only took a few minutes for him to get the deposit done in the drive-thru around the side. The timing worked out well, because he'd just parked around the front again, and was passing Carol back the empty envelopes to put into her purse, when he saw a small flatbed truck with "Blackburn Municipal" penciled out in all caps on the driver's side door, turning into the lot.

They had to be there to pick up the body.

Daryl was a bit surprised though when the men who got out of the cab to go meet Jolene over by the ATM door . . . she was just jogging up when they got there . . . weren't the garbage truck workers he was expecting to see, but instead two guys he recognized as part of the volunteer fire department. But then he figured that with the facts about what was really going on still limited to such a small group, that the sheriff had probably asked the fire chief to have his people step in to handle the cleanup until other plans could be made. Whether or not those firefighters had been briefed on the whole deal yet, Daryl had no way of knowing, but the way they were decked out in those white plastic suits, with the rubber gloves and the masks they were pulling down over their faces, he had to figure this wasn't their first pickup of the morning. A fact, sadly, confirmed, when he realized the tarp tied down over the bed of the truck, wasn't lying quite so flat. He bit his lip.

There were bodies under there.

And knowing Sophia didn't need to seein' more dead people on that day than she'd already seen . . . this might be the shitty new world they all needed to get used to, but he was still gonna do his level best to see she didn't get messed up in the head before all this was done . . . he immediately slid his arm back around those slim, leather clad shoulders, and tucked her head down to his chest.

He could see that Carol was already holding that little hand.

"What's under that tarp ain't somethin' you need to be looking at either, sweetheart," he murmured across the front seat as he watched Kenny McDermitt start to roll back the thick blue plastic.

"Probably not," his girl answered with a clearing of her throat, "but if you're watching it then I'm watching it." She turned to give him a soft look.

"I appreciate that you're trying to protect me, hon," she said with a sad smile, "but you know I need to get used to seeing these things just as much as you do. And the next time we come across a pile of bodies, we probably won't have the luxury of being safe and secure locked up in the truck."

"Yeah," he let out a heavy sigh, "yeah, I guess that's true."

That's when she looked back out the front windshield, so his own eyes followed suit. Now they could clearly see the two rows of both bare and shoe covered feet, lined up four across the bottom, and then three stacked on top. The town butcher made it four even on both levels.

Daryl didn't even want to think about who those other people might be.

"Don't wanna go out like that," he muttered with a brush of his fingers through Sophia's hair, "it ain't dignified."

At that, he heard Carol let out a heavy sigh, and then, "no . . . no, it's not. But," she turned, her lips twisting then as she gave him a faint, watery, smile, "we already decided that we're not going to go out period, so we don't need to worry about an end like that, right?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"That's right."

Then his eyes shifted back out the front to see Jolie was giving him a raised twirl of her finger. He returned her twirl with a thumbs up, right before he gave Sophia a pat on the back and told her to buckle up again.

 _Time to go._

/*/*/*/*

"How many of this one, Daryl?"

For a second Daryl's nose twitched as he stared past Sophia, and over to the image of the shells for the .30 gauge shotgun there on the biddies' oversized computer screen.

It was like the size of a TV.

"Um," he started to answer with a twist of his jaw, "let's go with ten, no, twelve boxes there, and then that should be it. And after you add them on, if you know how to do the credit card part to pay," he tapped the edge of the small plastic rectangle he'd placed onto the desk a few minutes earlier, "you can use this one here to do that."

"Yep, I can do it," Sophia responded quickly as she moved her hand to slide the arrow across the screen, "we learned how in school."

For that, Daryl just let out a faint grunt at all the stuff this little girl would've known how to do when she was a grownup, if only the world wasn't spinning to a stop in her tenth year. Again though, just like he'd told Jolene earlier at the bank, today wasn't the time to be thinkin' on that melancholy shit. So instead he just reached over to give that t-shirt covered shoulder a gentle squeeze . . . they'd left her jacket in the kitchen. And as he let his hand fall away, he leaned back in the puffy leather desk chair and closed his eyes, tryin' to be grateful for a second that they'd got one more thing knocked off of Carol's _Pre-Apocalypse To Do_ _List_.

And this was a big one too.

Because he and Sophia . . . who at present were alone in the biddies' small office . . . were just wrapping up his bulk order for ammunition off one of those online sporting good places. It had only taken a little bit of poking around on Google to find one that said for just a hundred dollars extra (extra as in on top of regular shipping charges) they'd deliver everything by ten am tomorrow morning. And thank God those folks had had everything they needed too, which was basically enough crates of bullets and shotgun shells to take over a small country.

The cost to take over a small country probably wouldn't be much more than what they were spending too.

No joke, when he looked over at the pay screen Sophia was slowly filling in, he could see the price there of nine thousand, two hundred and seventeen dollars plus forty-two cents. That was more than he'd ever paid for anything in his life, but with what was coming . . . hundreds more of these walkers just in their damn town alone . . . he knew that every single one of those shells, bullets and bolts (yeah, at the last second he'd thought to buy a shitload of arrows too) could be all that kept him and his girls alive, when everybody else started to go. He was hoping all that stuff would be what kept Merle alive too, but Merle's situation was a thought for tomorrow.

They already had enough shit on their plate for today.

To that point, he saw Sophia turning then to look at him as her little finger came up to poke at the glass screen.

"You need to do that last one, Daryl," was her whisper. So he leaned forward to type in his birthday to prove he was of age to purchase a firearm. Apparently that was one of the few rules that hadn't been repealed yet by those acts of Congress. Or really, probably more likely it was just that the website was still set up from before all that crap passed. Either way, it only took him a second to plug in those six digits, plus the other five that Sophia had left blank when it came to his zip code. Funny enough she actually did know his address to put that in . . . most likely Carol had had her memorize it . . . so the zip was the only bit she'd missed. But once that was box was filled out, he gave a quick check of the card numbers to make sure everything lined up right before he gave that girl a little smile and told her it was all set to press the button. So she turned around, put her little hand back on the mouse, and slid the arrow over to the big red box. ' _SUBMIT_ ' it said.

So she did.

"Good job, darlin'," he murmured as they watched the page start to reload, "couldn't have done it without ya."

Sophia turned her head then to give him a small, sad, smile.

"I miss getting to use the computer at school," her voice faded then as she looked away for a moment, "it was fun." And when her eyes snapped back to his, he could see how sad she was. And he was just about to reach over and touch her cheek, when she quickly blinked and looked away again.

Just like her mama would've done.

For a second he just stared over at the outline of her little button nose, trying to decide if he should ask the question. Then he decided to leave her be, 'cuz if she wanted to push everything down right now, he'd let her.

They could talk tonight.

So instead he just refocused on what had just loaded up on the screen. That would be a summary of their order, a confirmation number from the company, and a tracking number for the FedEx.

"Print that page please, Sophia," he murmured while slowly pushing back his chair, "then we'll be all done here."

Again, she pressed the button he'd said to, and again, it only took a few seconds for the request she made to be processed. That time it came in the form of a faint hum, then a single slip of paper that began to slide out of the printer across the room.

Sophia rushed over to pick it up.

And as he was coming up to his feet, she was running back to hand it to him. Then she suddenly stopped short.

Right in front of him.

"Here you go, Daryl," she whispered with a crackle, her eyes now locked onto his midsection. So he stooped down to take the page from her clenched fingers. Then he folded that slip of paper in half and tucked it into his back pocket. And he did those things without even a glance because he could see that Sophia's efforts to push down all those big people emotions, well . . . he let out a sigh . . . they weren't going so well. That was clear from how red and watery her eyes had just got. That's how they'd been when they'd first come into the biddies' house maybe thirty minutes earlier.

She was scared to death of this place.

Of course with the terrible things that had happened there last night, and the trauma she'd suffered, it was no wonder she was so freaked out. Carol was pretty much the same way when they'd first arrived. The main difference there was though, Carol was his big girl . . . he reached over to pull Sophia into his arms . . . and this here was his little one. So while all Carol had had to do to get herself back through the front door was to take a deep breath and straighten her spine, Sophia had needed to go all spider monkey again. But that was okay, because he didn't want her (or Carol) being back in that place, any more than she (or Carol) wanted to BE in that place. And he sure as _shit_ didn't want any of them to be in that house any longer than they needed to be. Which was why first thing they'd done after the quick hello and check-in with Jolie's husband, Greg and the Sheriff's wife, Tanya . . . those two had already made sure the house was still clear of walking dead people, and had gotten setup in the kitchen going through the pantries and cabinets . . . was to head straight in to get Carol and Sophia's stuff packed to go.

Basically he just wanted them to be all ready to run if they needed to go fast.

The part about the packing that had sucked though, was that getting to Carol and Sophia's room had meant cutting through the back hall where Miss Roberta had finished off Miss Evelyn. The way Jolie had whispered it to him while they were coming up the front walk, was that the first attack, the one Carol had barely escaped, had taken place in the front hall. There was blood spray on the walls there. Then they'd followed . . . 'cuz that was the only way to go . . . the bloody, smeared, footprints and handprints down the hall and through the kitchen, then on through until they'd reached the bedroom they'd needed to be at.

That was where the biggest pool of blood in the house was too.

Even with Jolie's warning, it was still a hell of a thing to see, because it was just so much gore. Gory footprints, gory handprints, and gory drips and puddles. Most of which weren't even close to dry yet. Some of the smears were, and the drops were getting there, but the puddle was still shiny, and tacky on the edges. Flies had started to gather up too.

And they were feasting on more than just blood on that hardwood.

Even while his own breath had caught at seeing the torn pieces of skin and chunks of flesh on the floor . . . there was also one giant clump of scalped, grey and blood streaked, hair . . . Daryl had been tucking Sophia's head down even tighter against his neck. Then he'd heard Carol letting out a muffled sob. So that's when he'd taken one hand off of the little one's back, to reach over and squeeze her mama's fingers.

That was really all he could do for her.

It hadn't been like words were gonna help then, because there were no good words. He couldn't say Miss Roberta didn't suffer. He couldn't say she went quick. And he sure as shit couldn't say she didn't see it coming, because with all that blood, all over that house, it was obvious . . . she'd seen all of it coming.

And that was the last thing she'd seen.

So after Jolie had turned to head back down the hall to go help with the kitchen stuff, Daryl had walked his two sniffling girls into the room they'd shared for most of the week. The place had been a mess. But after he'd put Sophia down on what had previously been her mama's bed . . . Sophia's bed was covered in glass and blood, which was something that had made Daryl feel kind of sick to see . . . Carol had pulled out clothes for the two of them to wear to the store, because at that point they'd still just been wearing their pajamas from the night before. And while they made quick work of getting changed and putting on their socks and sneakers (given how she'd had no shoes when they were first walking in, Carol had been VERY careful stepping around the blood in that house), he'd spent that time with his head turned away to give them some privacy while he packed up the rest of his girls' few belongings. Then once he was done with that job, which had only taken about a full minute 'cuz Carol had left half their stuff in the two duffels they'd shown up with, he'd moved on to pulling down all those books she'd wanted to take back to his place.

There'd been even more of them piled on those shelves than he'd remembered.

So he'd only just started in on the second shelf by the time Carol had finished tying off her second sneaker, so after she'd tucked that day's barely worn pajamas in with their other clothes, she'd moved on to helping him finish up with the books. In the end it took probably less than ten minutes for the girls to get changed and for him and Carol to get everything else they were taking jammed up into either a duffel, or one of the two oversized canvas bags he'd swiped from Merle's old Army stuff. Of course filled up with books, and half of them hard covers no less, those bags weighed a God damn TON, but somehow he'd got them hefted up onto his shoulders so he could lug them down to the front door. And while he was doing that, Carol and Sophia had waited back in the bedroom 'cuz neither he nor Carol wanted Sophia to be seeing that horrible bloodbath in the hallway. And the only way for her to AVOID seeing that bloodbath, was if she was being carried out of the room with her eyes shut, just like she'd come in. Unfortunately though, at sixty plus pounds, she was just a little too heavy for Carol to lug for more than a short distance. Especially when that distance involved sidestepping around the slippery mess outside their bedroom door. Them separating for a minute did have one benefit though, 'cuz it gave Carol's overstressed brain time to remember the other key thing they'd needed to collect from the biddies' house . . . Sophia's baby doll.

Anna Marie.

Those were the first two words she'd said to him when he'd stepped back into the bedroom. And with him muttering, "yep, right right, we'll find her next," he'd gone over and picked up the other duffels. Those were the ones with just the clothes and whatnot, and they were so light (by comparison to the books at least) that they both easily slid up onto one shoulder, so he hoisted Sophia up on his other hip. Then with the little one under strict instructions to keep her eyes shut again for the walk through the hall, they'd gone searching for that rag doll out in the living room. That's where Carol'd said Sophia had last been carrying her. But she wasn't just laying on the floor, she was actually half under the couch with one floppy arm sticking out from under the skirt. So at some point either when Miss Evelyn plowed through, or the deputies had cleared the place, she'd likely gotten kicked out of the way. Fortunately Anna Marie didn't seem any worse for wear because of it . . . there were no bloody spots on her at least . . . but still, with them not knowing if she'd been in contact with anything disgusting, Carol was firm about her getting washed before Sophia could take her back again. Of course Sophia had not been thrilled to have her doll sealed up into an oversized Zip-Lock baggie and shoved into the bottom of her mama's purse, but it wasn't really a point for discussion.

What mama said, went.

And once the Anna Marie situation had been resolved, they'd finally moved on to the last 'personal' item that Carol had put on their list for the biddies' house.

That was the matter of the teaching supplies.

For that one they'd called Jolie back in from where she was helping to box stuff up out in the kitchen, 'cuz this one had applied to her kids too. So with her help, he and Carol (with Sophia by that point just clinging to his belt) had gone around collecting every box in that house they could find with anything leftover from the biddies' days working in the Blackburn school system. What they'd found had included years and years worth of manuals, worksheets, maps, and so on and so forth. The key elements of the so on and so forth, had included a small plastic solar system layered over in dust, an old microscope still in its box, boxes of flashcards to teach more kinds of math than Daryl had even heard of, and an empty ant farm that he'd told Sophia they could fill up again that weekend.

All that extra stuff though had really tickled the ladies.

And Carol had promised Jolene that by the end the weekend, she'd get through all the boxes and separate out everything that applied for grades younger than Sophia's. Then they'd pack that stuff separate and Jolie could pick it up to bring back to her own place for her own home schooling, because she was going to need all the teaching help she could get. Her little ones were barely old enough to even know their ABCs, so basically everything they needed to be taught, was gonna fall to their parents. That was going to be a lot of work.

More even than was going to be going on with them and Sophia.

But that was something else Jolie and Carol had said they'd talk about later . . . lesson plans, that is. And as he stood in that little home office on the back side of the biddies' house, cuddling in Sophia like she'd always been his, it made Daryl happy to think of those two gettin' together to work out schooling for their kids. Because it meant in their hearts they really did have a hope of them all making it through long enough for that to matter. Daryl had that hope too, but he also knew how a lot of getting through the worst of these days and weeks coming, was goin' to be just keeping the faith that there would be something on the other side worth getting to. That's what his girls were for him.

A reason to try.

So with that last thought, he rubbed his hand down Sophia's back as he whispered in her ear, "ready to go get your mama and finish our day now?"

It took a second, but then he felt Sophia take a deep breath, right before she nodded her head against his shoulder . . . the little blonde hairs tickled his ear.

"Yep," she cleared her throat, "I'm ready."

Then she tipped her head back to give him a little smile. It was a bit teary, but that was okay. 'Cuz she was only ten and she was scared . . . but still she was trying too. So for that, he brought his hand up to brush his finger along her cheek.

"You know this morning I told your mama," he was speaking softly, and with a faint crinkle of his eyes, "that finding you two was the best thing that happened to me in my whole life."

Seeing the tears in Sophia's eyes start to pool, his expression softened.

"And all that stuff we just bought," he continued on in the same tone, "that's gonna take us a long, _long_ way to staying safe. But we'll still find a way to have fun too," he rubbed his hand down her back, "it'll just be different than before. The main thing to remember for the next few days though, is that once we're done getting these supplies, we'll be able to hunker down in my house for the long haul, okay?"

"Yeah," she sniffled while wiping away the last stray tear from her cheek, "okay."

His lip quirked up.

"All right then," he whispered as he reached out to scoop her back onto his hip, "let's get on with it."

The good thing about getting on with it, was that from what Daryl had been hearing through the office door, it'd sounded like the rest of their little group had been moving at a good clip down in the kitchen. And when he and Sophia walked back in there, it did look like most every scrap of food the biddies had in the house, had already been pulled out of the cabinets and pantries, not to mention what'd been found in the fridge and the extra freezers down in the cellar. The kitchen table and all the counters and floors were completely covered with bags and boxes and bins of stuff. And those baskets that the ladies had kept for picking their fruits and vegetables from the back garden, now they were stacked full with premade frozen meals that Jolene explained she'd found in the bottom of the deep freezers. Altogether, by Daryl's estimation anyway, there seemed to be enough supplies scattered around the kitchen to feed probably fifty or sixty people for a couple weeks. There was actually SO much stuff, that there was a brief debate as to how much they could even get out of the house in this one trip.

They just weren't expecting this big of a haul.

So not only was there a space issue with only four vehicles, but they also had to consider how there was gonna be all the back and forth lugging of everything from the house out to the street. 'Cuz to stay safe while those transfers were happening, two of the four adults were gonna have to do nothing but keep watch. Really with all those shrubs and bushes and trees covering not only the biddies' yard, but everyone else's too . . . Blackburn was just houses and streets carved through a forest . . . two man spotters were the only way to make sure nothing horrible (like Miss Evelyn for instance), snuck up on 'em. And one thing everyone in that room already knew, was that the sun coming up was no guarantee of safety.

They had to stay alert.

In the end it was Ms. Tanya who ended up settling the point though, because it was her husband who had decided (by what Daryl had heard from Jolie, anyway) that she would be in charge of this whole delivery process for the old folks. It might have seemed funny to some people that the sheriff would want his wife out doing volunteer work with all this death and sickness crashing down on them, but Daryl had to admit, thinking about it, if he had to pick someone for this job he probably would've picked the sheriff's wife too. That's 'cuz Ms. Tanya could pretty much do anything and everything, and she could do it all at once. Beyond raising four little ones starting in her early twenties, (she was just about fifty now) two years ago she'd started over with the kid raising when she and the sheriff had taken in their grandbaby after their only son and his wife had been killed in a car accident. For some women, all that wife and mama stuff alone would've been a full plate, but not for Ms. Tanya. No, while she was doing all that, she'd also spent the last twenty-five years teaching once a week art classes at both the elementary and the high school, even without the town paying her. The last two generations of Blackburnians, all they knew about art (little though it may have been) had come from what they'd learned with Ms. T.

Even Daryl'd had her for a class way back in the day.

At the time he'd been about seventeen and she'd been maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. Of course he'd had a huge crush on her because he was an idiot teenager, but even all these years later she was still just as pretty as she was the day she'd given him a big smile and told him he did a great job on his rabbit sculpture.

He'd welded it together out of scraps he'd got at the junk yard.

But she was a real good like that, being supportive that is. 'Cuz unlike most teachers, she didn't make you do stupid stuff that you didn't want to do. It was all her own time she was volunteering, and she just wanted kids to see the world was bigger than the hick town they lived in, so she'd bring in lots of books of famous paintings and drawings, and she'd pass 'em around so you could see the pictures. Then for projects she'd just ask what you thought you were good at, (and that year she'd been his teacher, he'd been doing real good in metal shop) then she'd show you how you could make something nice out of a skill you already had. She was a genuine artist herself though, who'd been selling her paintings in a shop down in Alpharetta for at least ten years now. And beyond all of the art stuff and the kid stuff, in her _free_ time . . . though Daryl wasn't really sure how she had any . . . she and the sheriff drove around the state to rifle shooting competitions. They each had a few medals to their names. Which was why he'd not been surprised at all to walk into the kitchen today to see Ms. T's Marlin Rimfire slung over the back of one of the chairs.

Yeah, that pretty lady was probably one of the best pure shots in town.

So that was the first thing she decided, that she'd be the best one to keep full watch, then she said that Carol could be the extra set of eyes, while the rest of them brought as much outside (starting with the frozen stuff of course) as could be carried in three trips from the porch. Everything else they'd leave piled up right in the front hallway, so that later in the morning she could come back with a few more well-armed volunteers, for a quick scoop and run of the rest of the supplies. Once it was all at the station house, she'd work with her husband to handle everything from there.

One thing at a time.

Her plan seemed pretty sound to Daryl, it made the most sense at least, and so he was about to start filling his arms up to get moving, when from down below he felt a tug on his shirt right before Sophia whispered into his chest, "what about the chickens, Daryl?" and everybody stopped. Because nobody had mentioned the chickens yet. But every adult in that room already knew what was coming, which meant that they had to all understand what needed to be done.

Those chickens would have to be put down.

It did seem a damn shame though to let them go straight into the pot, when most of those hens probably had a few years worth of eggs left to lay. The problem though . . . and it was a problem they bandied about in a quick discussion . . . was how could they realistically keep them alive? Because nobody in their group (outside the poor dead biddies themselves) had a tall fence around their yard, and even the biddies' fence would need reinforcing to actually keep the chickens safe back there. Of course nobody could put in the time, or spend the resources, just to protect those birds but if they left them there as is, all they were gonna be was bait for those walkers. And if the turn kept going the way they thought it would (twenty percent of the town dead, slash undead within the month) the chickens would probably get torn to shreds within the week.

That's why it seemed a lot kinder to just wring their necks now.

That wasn't something Daryl wanted to say flat out in front of Sophia though. It would hurt her little heart. So he was just about to ask Carol if she could take her to the bathroom for a second . . . it was a safe room with no windows . . . when Carol herself turned and looked at him. Then she asked if chickens were quiet enough to be kept in a cellar. And that was a question which caused him to take pause, because that wasn't an option that had occurred to him until then. But he _did_ actually have a cellar that was pretty much sound proof. It was just a big cement block under the house with a couple of divider areas, but no outside windows or doors. There was an actual reason for that though, 'cuz apparently back in the twenties his granddaddy had been running moonshine, and around that time their part of town was still mostly trees so nobody had noticed when he'd bricked up the windows on the outside of the cellar, then cemented them over completely on the _inside_ , all so that the sheriff couldn't see or hear what he was up to downstairs. That was a real lucky break for the biddies' chickens though, because now that Carol had put the thought in his head Daryl figured there couldn't be any harm in trying to keep a small pen down there. Because really, a single bird didn't do much squawking as is, and the smell would be minimal too. Also, a big bag of chicken feed for one bird would last probably close to a year, and when the point came where they couldn't feed her anymore, or if she just stopped laying eggs, they could make her into dinner. And when he shared those points with the others (though he quickly covered over Sophia's ears when he mentioned the "dinner" part) the group decision was to come back later with some kennels and move the chickens to the station for pickup later. That approach was the most convenient for all them given how they had other stuff to do now, but they also figured this way if anyone else wanted to try the cellar plan . . . even with if all four of the households present kept one chicken, that'd still leave four up for grabs . . . the bird would be safe until they were all shipped off to their new homes. Ms. T. also added that if he and Carol could pick her up a big bag of chicken feed when they were out, that she'd be sure to save them the hen of their choice back at the station.

Sophia immediately piped up then that she wanted Bertha.

When Daryl shot a questioning look over to Carol, she explained with a little smile and a tussle of Sophia's hair, that Bertha was the grey hen. And as he took note of Carol's silvery strands, and then back down to the hopeful face of her daughter looking up at him, he couldn't help but snort. 'Cuz there was little doubt why the grey hen was her baby's favorite! So he gave Sophia a nod and a wink as he whispered, "Bertha it is."

With that last point now settled, everyone . . . Sophia included . . . started loading up their arms. Fortunately with six folks working (even if one of those folks was itty bitty) it actually didn't take too long to get the kitchen cleared out, which was lucky because the clock was starting to tick away again in Daryl's head. But as long as they got on the road within the next half hour . . . and it was just starting to push eight o'clock . . . he knew that they should still be fine getting to the Costco right after their scheduled opening time at nine am. Originally he'd been hoping to get there extra early to scope things out in the area and get lined up right at the front door, but thinking about it as he started to carry the first load of stuff off the porch, Daryl realized that leaving a little later might work out well for avoiding the traffic from the morning rush hour. Because he had to figure there still was one of those, even if there were probably a whole hell of a lot less people rushing around _this_ morning than there would've been at the same time last week. Either way, a few minutes later, when he was dumping the first load of supplies into the back of his truck, he knew that focusing in on the task at hand was the best way to keep the schedule he had in his head.

So he turned around and ran back up the front path to get the next load. Jolene and Greg were already on their second trips too, while Carol (and Sophia once more by default) were keeping the planned eye on the neighborhood from their perch on the porch steps. Ms. T was doing the same from the middle of the path, and at the moment she was the only one with a gun out. But that was because the neighborhood was still pretty dead.

No joke intended.

It was just that once more it was so easy to forget how messed up things were when everything still seemed so normal. Normal passed away completely though right when Daryl was heading up to grab the last of the bags on the porch. Because that's when both Jolene and Greg's police radios started to crackle from where they were coming up the steps behind him.

He slowly turned around.

And then he heard, "ALL UNITS, CODE THREE TO THE CREAMERY! MULTIPLE TWO ONE SEVENS IN PROGRESS! REPEAT MULTIPLE TWO ONE SEVENS IN PROGRESS! ALL AVAILABLE UNITS REPORT TO THE CREAMERY!"

Greg immediately winced out a, "fuck," right before he spun around and took off at a sprint down the stone pathway with one hand on his holster, even while he was yelling back over his shoulder, "I'LL CALL YOU WHEN WE'RE CLEAR, BABE!"

The comment was clearly directed at Jolie. And feeling his heart start to rat a tat tat in his chest, Daryl's eyes shot over to his old friend's as he bit out a stressed, "what's a two one seven?"

If it was what Daryl thought it was, things had just gone from bad to worse for their little town. And sure enough, he could tell from the way Jolene was grinding her teeth and clenching her first while she stared down at her SUV, that even though she was off duty now, she was still thinking about following after her husband.

She'd only do that if she was afraid he was running into a massacre.

After another beat though she swallowed and turned to look, first up at him . . . then off to the taillights of her husband's cruiser that was just then skidding around the corner at the end of the street.

Greg had left rubber in his wake.

"A two one seven is assault with intent to commit murder," Jolene murmured, her gaze now tracking along the empty street, and the cheerful yards surrounding them, "so with multiple two one sevens all I can think is that either we missed a major infection source, or somehow all the missing people we've been searching for somehow converged at the creamery all on their own." She bit her lip, "that seems strange though."

"No," Daryl came back slowly, "no, it's not strange. That actually makes perfect sense."

When Jolie's confused eyes shot back to his, he continued on with a sharp hiss.

"It's the _cows_ that drew them in! You know they got thirty of 'em grazing out there, and that's more animals than anybody else on that side of town has, and they probably all got let out of their pens right after sun up."

"Oh Jesus Christ you're right," Jolene cut in then with her own wince, "and for any of those things in the area, the sounds and smells of that many animals, would have been like a dinner bell being rung. So they probably would've started heading in that direction right way, and then the creamery staff would have started showing up around seven . . ." her voice thickened, "and they'd be the ones getting attacked right now."

Feeling a sickening ache in his gut, Daryl turned first to look back at Carol standing below him on the steps . . . she had tears in her eyes . . . and then over to Jolene staring down at her SUV again.

"Should we go too?" He asked her softly. "Go help I mean? Or do they have enough deputies workin' to handle it?"

That was the real fear, that those folks . . . all folks he _knew_ . . . were now getting torn apart and there weren't enough cops on duty to get things under control. Though as he saw Jolene turn to give him a sad look, and a shake of her head, he had to figure maybe they did have enough help coming.

"No, it should be all right," she answered him with a sigh, "because the auxiliary deputies started showing up shortly before I left, and we hadn't had a report of anything fishy for a good hour before that, so in theory there should be at least ten bodies heading out there now." Then she gave him a twisted smile as her voice crackled, "I just still feel like I should go though, because I hate the idea of Greg being in that dangerous of a situation, without me there to watch his back."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded slowly as he reached over to squeeze her fingers, "I know what you're saying, Jolie, but if they got that much backup he should be okay. If you want to go though," his hand fell back to his side, "I understand. We'll move what we can now with Ms. T, and you can just unload what's in your SUV later, right ma'am?"

His last comment he made while shooting Ms. Tanya a look from where she was still standing down on the walkway.

And fortunately she didn't make a liar out of him, because she quickly nodded her agreement to what he'd said, right before she added on with a look to Jolene.

"You go on now if you need to go, hon. And don't worry about Daryl and Carol having help unloading the things back at their house either, because I can do that too before I start sorting out the meals situation. Really," she continued on with a tap of her fingers on the butt of her rifle, "Jimmy and I already have all of our kids and the grandbabies holed up in our house, and we stocked up on all of our supplies over the last few days. So since he told me what happened last night, my main focus this weekend was just going to be to pitch in wherever I can be of use. So like I said, if you want to go," she jerked her head towards the street, "you go on. We'll be fine."

For a second Jolene just stared over at the sheriff's wife . . . Daryl could see her teeth were grinding again . . . but then finally she seemed to make up her mind. She gave a sharp nod.

"Thank you, ma'am, if you're sure you can cover for a little bit then I will go." She let out a heavy breath as she looked at Daryl again, "I just keep thinking that one more gun over there might save one more life."

"Yeah that's a real good point," Daryl cut back with a nudge of his elbow into her arm, "so get your ass moving. But," he added quickly with a darkened brow, "you watch yourself, 'cuz these feeding frenzies are a whole other thing than just the one on one you've dealt with so far. So you call when you're finished so I know you guys are all right."

What he was saying might've sounded a little over protective, but again he only had a few friends to start, and he sure as shit wasn't looking to lose two of them back to back a day part. Fortunately though, Jolene didn't seem to take any offense at his words (in the past she'd taken exception when she thought he was hovering too much, "makes me look like I can't handle myself, Daryl," is what she'd said), because she just shot him a quick, tight, smile and an, "I'll call, I promise, Dilly." Then she threw Carol a half wave, (Carol threw back a worried, "be careful!"), spun around on her boot . . . then she took off running down the path.

Daryl watched her go all the way up until her Explorer had disappeared around the same corner that her husband's cruiser had two minutes earlier. That's when his gaze narrowed as he gave a hard look around the neighborhood.

 _Shit._

* * *

 _A/N 2: Not much in the way of the Caryl, but we got a smidge, and we got some solid Daddy Daryl with Sophia. Beyond that obviously this chapter was here to move along some plot points. And from the opening scene where Jolene is taking the dead guy's picture and collecting his license, I liked the imagery of a real Apocalypse descending, and at the same time the rules of the world still exist. It's not like later on where killing any walker outside of your group is nothing, these are still people to them and they're trying to be respectful and follow a process. It can't last but I think it makes it more interesting to watch them attempting to you know, 'extend out the bureaucracy' to include procedures for handling the living dead, rather than simply going straight to anarchy._

 _Also their bureaucratic approach here of nobody getting a burial is clearly different than canon where the only bodies that are burned are strangers. But Jolene's argument is obviously valid that this is a town issue and they can't have crowds of mourners out, and they could also never coordinate that many burials anyway. The best they could do is a mass grave and I don't really think that's any better than incineration :( What we know of canon though is what approaches came later, so I have to imagine that burning the bodies (or again, mass graves) was how they handled things on the first wave of deaths._

 _The title of the chapter here I think pretty obviously refers to them getting into the groove of things with handling the walkers. These days they can walk down the street low key stabbing them in the head while still carrying on regular conversations, but remember back to season one with half the group converging on one walker with a bunch of baseball bats because they still didn't know what the hell they were doing. We'll get a taste of that here while our crew build their confidence and get a better read on what walkers can and can't do. Keep in mind also at this stage, nobody will think to arm themselves with knives like everyone does later. All they're thinking of is the way to stay safe is keeping their distance, not to 'move in' for a kill. They'll learn :)_

 _Ms. Tanya! She didn't get much of a chance to shine yet here, but I've always had a huge crush on Tamlyn Tomita and when I was picturing an attractive fifty something year old woman to be married to the sheriff, she immediately popped into my head. For her biography of being a crack rifle shot, a mom and a professional artist, I just liked that juxtaposition of all those things together, because given where they live people are more likely to have somewhat contradictory interests. Contradictory in that generally speaking, 'artist types' are less likely to be 'gun folk,' but up in the mountains like this especially, you wouldn't have that straight divide. Not everyone obviously would enjoy or embrace hunting, but people who grew up there are going to at least know guns. And I wanted some women in town outside of the police force to know their shit going into this and she just seemed like the perfect candidate to fold into that group. And bit of trivia, her rifle of choice, the Marlin, that was Annie Oakley's preferred rifle too :) Her husband, the sheriff, has not had any face time yet but he will eventually. For casting there FYI I went with Mark Rolston, another 'guy from that thing' that most of you will immediately recognize from a million supporting roles. For me, I've been a fan since Aliens back when he played Frost (Vasquez's numero uno). He's got that likeable hardass quality that I felt was important for somebody coming out as a 'leader' in the town. I added his picture to the Tumblr post too just for reference._

 _Jolene's husband also didn't get to do too much here, but everybody needs an introduction chapter, and it's harder for anyone new to shine when they're coming in on a narrative section :)_

 _The creamery. Again, if they were more experienced with this they would have realized that large group of animals would be a draw for the walkers and they might have used that to their advantage. Instead we're likely just going to end up with more dead/undead people. We'll find out later what happened._

 _Next time we will finally be on the road again with our trip to Costco, and what are the odds they can go back out into the world without running into trouble somewhere along the way? Probably not good ;) And I do promise to break the eighty-four years between these last two postings. The next thing going up this week is the last chapter of Take My Hand, and then I have family stuff, a couple of double shifts, and then I'm going to see where Cedar Forest is. That draft is SOOOOOO fat already, that I'm hoping if my brain is in the right place that I might luck out and be able to get that pulled together next week. No promises though, we'll just see what my brain feels like doing :)_

 _Thanks everyone for sticking with me here, as always it is much appreciated!_


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